Cab Window

I was infatuated with his cologne
My eyes followed his oxfords
as they stepped hard with determination
“Where is he going?” I wondered

Eyes straight, posture perfect
I wanted to tell the cab to drive faster
but that would be alarming

He stopped, and pulled the crumpled pack
of cigarettes from his back pocket
his derriere was quite firm
I think he’s a runner
His feeble body, told me so
in secret, maybe

“He smokes, so that’s good”
I was already playing the scenario of our first meeting
They were lucky’s, “ooo a rugged, one with a taste for the the “Toasted”
I already had story that we would discuss

I got stuck in traffic, my eyes were glued
His dirty blond hair, was wet, he showers in the morning
probably after his run, I thought
His sunglasses covered his eyes,
Maybe he, too, has a thirsty Thursday ritual
that’s another something in common

I am still in traffic, I am losing him
along with the fake hope that I had
which was weird, because it’s funny how you just
fabricate everything into maybe’s and what if’s
knowing he was just a guy, whom I’d seen that morning
while in a cab

“Finally, movement”
He lifted his hand and kissed that morning cigarette
He’s a handsome one, maybe German, he’s too well dressed for a European

I wonder, what his cologne is?
He looks like a soft spice person, away from the musky sweaty
cologne, he doesn’t have the body for that nor the image

Would I bump into him tonight?
He already lives in the same area I do
I wonder if he likes piercings… dammit here I go again
The cab driver intervened
“Here?”
It was my stop, dammit
then this happened…
You know that gut feeling,
that burns, that shakes off the dust
off of your butterflies
well, it beat, like a thud,
then subtly diluted itself
in
“what if”
Fuck
“what if”
right?

Thomas Saliot; Oil Painting %22Car window%22

Thomas Saliot; Oil Painting “Car window”

 

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