Funny how people always find each other,
in a crowded cocktail lounge, dimmed lights
filled with strangers, a smokey haze, mystical,
ice clanking in glasses, laughter, sighs, coughs,
groans, indistinguishable words, the profanity
of blasé participation, social intercourse.
Funny how two people chance a furtive glance
then locking eyes like magnets attracting begin
dragging the steel filings of their life baggage
with them, bulging at the seams, scraping across the floor,
until there they are, so close to one another
they can smell the perfume sweat of the work day.
Funny how it all changes at that odd moment,
the chemistry of oneness, desire replaces the
structure of reason and they are melded, held like
sticky notes wrapped in a condom of conversation,
of twitters, smiles, sips, commonality, accidental
bumps into the others personal space, welcomed.
Funny how they flirt without really understanding why,
not feeling molested by a casual intimate touch,
a warm hand on a shoulder, a back, a gentle push,
Tic-Tac sweetened breath spoken on an ear lobe,
flushed by the heat of a passing cheek, a curl of hair
tickles, smiling downcast eyes, moist lips, flirty things.
Funny how their lives are Rorschach ink blots on parchment,
pen and ink dribbles across intersecting lines,
sketched indictments of their need to funnel dreams,
aspirations, self-image, placement in the present,
while two people fondle with their libidos, stroking,
expanding the aura of sensation, semblance, suggestion.
Funny how the elements conspire against them, quickly,
lights brighten, the room clears, the drinks are watery,
the conversational condom is removed, discarded, avoided, the haze
gone, the only words are parting, halting, flat, a dull murmur
replaces laughter, reason returns, space renewed, discomfort.
“See you again,” spoken, then into the cold dark night, alone.
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour