Philosophy and Cappuccino
I used to dream this - turning in a bookstore
Or an airport, and seeing you.
But of course you found me on Facebook.
Still strange that we meet at last
Again, with half a lifetime past.
Why are you wearing a tie?
I thought you would still be in jeans.
Once on a summer’s night we walked
Half way across the city.
At dawn we sat on the floor of my room
And poured over a book on cosmology
Our first argument was over the persistence of the soul
You got nasty. I pouted. We drank cappuccino.
Once I threw a snowball and hit you in the face.
Your laugh sparked and you told me we would marry.
Snowflakes hung from your lashes like lace.
Incandescent, we could have warmed the world.
Our last fight was over far-off tyrants.
Or was it the time I told you
I didn’t really like art films?
You never respected my need for silence.
But I liked how you took it all seriously,
Your hair, and the makeshift second bed
In your dorm. We had philosophy,
Not just chemistry. We wanted our lives to sing.
But now my hands are always cold.
How did we who were once so young