Across the room, eyes meet.
Silent messages, discreet.
Back and forth, the game is played.
Names exchanged. A masquerade.
First date. Coffee and biscotti.
He feigns literati.
She intimates her taste
Leans towards being chaste.
Pizza for the second outing.
Not-quite-truths, both still touting.
Simple kiss confounds.
Both look forward to next go-around.
Third date leads to romancing.
Late dinner. A little dancing.
High on more than wine.
Secrets revealed. Bodies entwine.
Phone calls lasting until sunrise.
More truths. Less disguise.
Intimate evenings, passionate nights.
Reveling in love’s glowing light.
Passion begins to wane.
Interest difficult to maintain.
He works late. Forgets to phone.
She needs time to be alone.
Heated break up. Ugly row.
Anger quid pro quo.
She returns his shirts, CD’s
He erases her number’s memory.
Months go by. Anger falters.
They drink of lethean waters.
Then across the room, eyes meet.
Silent messages, discreet.
She whispers to her date
He’s the one, the one I hate.
He tells his new paramour
She’s the one, the little whore.
Yet glances steal across the room,
Each shows off a new costume.
Regret shows in their smiles.
Love lost. Life’s trials.
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