The Writer

In the corner silently speaking
Peering past the panel toward outside
I lose myself in the relative darkness
I see the ladies, through my mind’s eye, peeking
Cute and careful brides
Smiles in the curves of their dresses
The men in line behind for coffee drinking
Are honest, varied, many sides of pride
Their appearances confess
And this I know, I know what they are feeling
I close my eyes to open their’s wide
My fiction more real than theirs, or ‘least no less
And I smile (down my dress) at such détente
When, as quickly as it came, it leaves me
All alone and filled with want