I think I sat behind you that one time.
Perhaps twice, it could – might even be more
Than just an off-chance, singular affair
With your Swift, sour, soft, sweet, indifferent hair
The moment described itself as I learned.
Sinusoid, straightened: so like a river
It flowed, unfurled and poured, almost downwards:
Down beneath the shoulders of geography.
It hurt your neck to face back for an hour,
Amidst roughcast roister; mixed reactions
Wistfully whispering secrets of the sun
Whose brightness shone through when the day was done.
And I talked with public sector happiness,
Fenced off from the farthest seasons of autumn;
I twisted and twirled and touched that part of you.
We spoke to each other, But you couldn’t feel it