The
first time,
nostalgia
came over me;
like
looking at a picture of myself
I
had never seen.
I
gazed, second person,
mute,
hungry voyeur;
your
suited and booted margins
pleasingly
familiar.
Something
sexy happened.
Your
eyes spoke;
I
could lip-read them.
Hush!
this is the year of the tiger.
Let's
lunch forever.
Now,
a visual condiment;
ferocious but pensive,
piquant, like ketchup
with an indefinite shelf life.
