"you have fled through a crease in the air"
one moment, I admire your regal French nose and your slim fitting jeans,
the next you are gone, and my frantic search yields no sign of you,
only the sounds of dogs barking and animated conversation from
the nearby cafe
you have fled through a crease in the air into some other
universe where there is an Other, not me and I know
I will never feel the sharp pressure of your nose against my
soft cheek or watch your muscles flex under your jeans.
your French nothings will not grace my ears,
you spend long languid afternoons with