standing under the canvas awning
between the sidewalk sale and used
book tables waiting for the july
monsoon to dissipate in your town
three thousand miles from mine
inside small talk with the old
friend I was visiting then and
trying not to stare at you taking
easy glimpses at the geography
of your face among words since
we spoke a decade before
part of my heart wanted to smile
and speak and hug the moment
instead of being a voyeur
to my own sweet impulses
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