unspoken word

and so I sit
across the table from you
outside a cosy canal side cafe
summer sun blazing
it could all almost be construed as somewhat romantic
only
we are both making our best effort to act
“natural”
or more like
we are talking about art and music and politics
and common friends
in a way that suggests
we may just be pretending
we didn’t just sleep together
call it a kind of
“urban ritual”
and sure its the next best thing to
devoted declarations
and certainly better than
you or me disappearing right “after”
and i’ve played this charade before you know
I know all my lines
I can exude casualness effortlessly
but somewhere between
requests for a light
queries of whether I take milk and/or sugar
in my coffee
I kind of want to cut our conversation short
and just shout out loud
“we f*$@ed“
just so I know its real
just so I can be sure I didn’t make it up…