Amsterdam

I watched you that slow grey morning
as you sat on the edge of the bed
putting on your makeup
wet hair clinging to your neck
still dripping onto your t-shirt
dotting its color from sky to blood.

Unaware of my gaze
you were somewhere far away
happily singing a song (I imagined)
words I could not comprehend
so sure of your solitude you danced
half-naked in the cool rain.

I watched your foot dangle idly
twitching, a leaf catching droplets,
your bare sole hinting
one last and forlorn time
at a place of secluded wonder
I know exists, but cannot breach.

I saw, at that moment, my dilemma
a tacit invitation written in code I could not crack
as the dewy newness dried away
evaporating us into tedium
a sense of impending loss
burrowing its aching dullness deep into my soul.

“Why aren’t you coming in?”
your words indifferently unspoken
startled me, and I looked away.
I had no answer and so
let the quiet once so endearing
add to our distance.

You smiled, and I saw a hint of sadness.
Was it yours or mine?
I thought our affair could last forever
in the place I dreamed real
But you knew better
that time and heartache are one.