(Image of Myself Computed They Were Pearls by Emily Dickinson)
Your hand reached out for the Same book as mine Ungloved. Naked. Lingering Veins standing out Like flags Full of blood. It lingered on my Purple gloved paw As we both stared at Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems Fall towards the floor. You caught it before I moved You stood there Collected calm Smooth And said quietly But firmly For my ears only "Want to go get a Drink? I don't have to go To work until Four thirty." I ordered a cola That I knew I could Not drink, With a white paper Straw and wondered If I could go throw up In the women's Bathroom sink. I was not prepared To do the usual dance Of sneak-wave smiles And chitter chatter Happenstance. She pulled off her mask And patted my arm Then ripped off Emily's Clear plastic cellophane And read me a line About beauty and Charm. I sat there not touching The drink I could not Drink. Gloves and mask on Though I removed my Glasses so I could think. And she read me lines About summer and Imitations of madness And I realized how Young she looked And how quickly time Passes. She passed the book Over to me, and waited Patiently, and I read To her some lines About the color red And the power of the Sea. Her eyes were bright With an inner shine. And when she had finished Draining a lemonade and Gin, she reached over to Me and brushed her lips Against my skin. She tore a corner off A City Lights receipt And wrote her number On it, But I gave her a fake One back in an act Of cowardice and Deceit. You see if you ever Read this It was not because I thought we didn't Click But because I feared We were perfect And I would Be forced To live.