When I entered the bar room,
there was you;
lining up your eye,
preparing to shoot the cue.
A bluff landlord pulled drinks
while punters gesticulated and sipped,
ticking in time to a spinning world
that receded into yester-land,
leaving me behind, an island
absorbed in the core
of your stillness.
I had never
set eyes on you before,
you had not yet seen me,
yet I recognised you
and I knew;
that I loved you.
My romance with George had been a game of amore,
my liaison with Dave an amateur lesson in practical passion.
I rinsed their names from my wall.
A friend whispered
I took a picture of your name
and placed it with the gathered information;
your hair, like a spent storm-cloud’s golden lining,
your eyes a paint-box summer sky,
the shape of your face,
the angle of your slender hip,
the half-apologetic twist of your lip
accompanied by a shrug, after you pocketed the black.
Black denim on your legs, black cotton
covering your tempting back,
black leather belt.
I cannot say I was patient;
my days and nights were filled with images of you,
dreams of our first meeting, and of our future,
I waited, sure that you would find me soon.
each added page of data
was warmed by your presence.
Every hour I spent with you,
every thought inspired by you,
every single part of you
beneath your name,
on the peaceful gravestone
of my heart.
Judy kindly invited me to write a post using the irresistible title of her poem, so I stayed up late (as usual) to write it.
Click on Judy’s link—-> I Took a Picture of Your Name <—-go on, don’t be shy
©Jane Paterson Basil