Imperfect Correction

She saw him, she thought she saw him, she
felt him in her thoughts in her mind she saw
him as he was who she thought he was, who
she wanted him to be really but never admitted
never addressed were the details the small
bits and pieces that made the whole, the parts
connected constructed aligned toward an
actual person standing laughing eating sitting
within her reach her allowed distance her
strength denying her the luxury of empathy
she could only see what she could only see
through a lens of dispassion separation of
wanting and having contrary always contrary
to the model on the showroom floor

She saw him, saw him fade, her pre-prophesized
second meeting awkwardness creating distance
an imperfect correction to an unbroken dream
left unchecked diminished eventually denuded
inevitably contrived to suppress to defend to
impact away; away toward something safe
something not close not skin not lying naked
thinking morning pillow sheet breast hand and
lips drawn toward a connection intersection, a
shadowed rhythm with friction slight abrasion
into a sky sitting low over the Henry Hudson
motions and sounds meaning less and less
as the words on a one way street meant
everything and nothing

She saw him…in his mind’s eye she saw him
and let him go on second thought on second
awkwardness too complicated conflicted too
much too much even though details were the
weight the spinning centrifuge pushing her
ideas into a conclusion not supported by him
not addressed as her perception addressed
but all words all words relying on forgetfulness
on letting go, on waiting for the evolution
versus accepting versus looking at the whole
seeing the total…she saw him but couldn’t see
him past herself when what she saw was her
idea and only him in name.

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