So What’s My Super-Objective

So What’s My Super-Objective

There’s once, around an hour in,
You break.
You’ve forgotten to play at listening to your plain-pretty friend
Who’s sure that dream she had about you was prophetic,
Certain, she goes on and you,
You cheat out to the rest of the restaurant, and

 

There!

 

I catch in your eye —
There, again:
There is hot moonlight on cold sand
And some hundred winking hieroglyphs atop
A temple, long-abandoned,
Devoted once but to an un-finished God.

 

The waitress comes to clear away the plates.
Dessert?
Your cheeks lift almost imperceptibly: 
I can’t, but please you go ahead.

 

 

Drawing for Michael Chekhov - Nicolai Remisoff
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)