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Two wraiths in a gust in-between frames with a Third

...was it when i bumped into you last
           a little put out by the awkwardness
         something not willed   not even  by chance
who knows an air of Oh please spare me the excuse
eyes darting from cheek to contorting lips
        the turning breeze curling into your bitten bud of an ear
   expiring burnt breath 
           just the intimate release of breathless control
shifting feet   somewhere in some other film frame
     a door closing creaking in the soft amber sheen 
of the flickering street lamp
                                                        was it in another slot
  of time held in some half-remembered patched-up reel
footsteps slap quick-shuffled the soundtrack dragging the heels
                                                The Third Man
down wet cobbled stones claroscuro classic 
                    withholding comment

no time to grasp even the outstretched hand
   a finger or two trailing   no the index thumb and Mount of Venus
ever so lightly alerting the eyes yet for a fractured second
       averting eye-contact   slicing presences
or was it just that i wished to overlook the rebuff
  thwart the unkindest cut into my roiling belly juices
                                           the day you took careful aim
  for some slight   some mite of a pain       complaint
      a moment so gossamer thin so ephemeral no trace lingers
   in the wind-swept thrusts of the pulse in the brain
         does one hesitate in the accusing hour
an old sagging man cap in hand  wordless and wan
      hardly daring to lift lame will and sorry self
  for once the back is turned        no thoughts
                              of humped puffing breath bathing the cheeks
 the lips  the bacteria baked unbrushed stench
and the less than hoped-for wish trailing aghast
     when next we stumble and slip 
                                                      from one another's grasp...

© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
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