What Could Have Been
By Jon Forsythe
The wind in the air.
The sun on your cheek.
The way you look at me.
Your natural ability to put me at ease.
The inflection in your laugh that is so subtle.
Room 405.
$1.59 for small latte.
A shade just in between aquamarine and sky blue.
The salt on your skin.
Jazz on the radio.
A spot of mustard on your skirt.
A button from your blouse.
Business or pleasure?
Crab and shrimp.
White Zinfandel.
Freud, Pinter, and Aristotle.
Sandals by the bed.
�Dance with me;� �but there�s no music playing.�
Kiss so sweet.
The roadside diner.
35 cents in the meter.
Watch the rain inside the car, sunroof view.
Waves upon the sand.
Frozen time.
Frozen martini; no salt.
Waltz and a breeze.
Shortened nails; �it�s a nervous habit.�
Expand your mind.
How you touch the back of my neck.
Whisper sarcasm in my ear.
�Oh, the opera is so overdone.�
Ham and cheese omelet.
�Excuse me, you forgot your purse.�
Flight 1129 departs for San Cruz.
Trailer hitch and orange men digging a ditch.
A lily and a rose.
Lit by the moon.
Smile to me that hint of seduction.
Eyes flitter and flutter here and there.
Elevator music.
Brunette with a gift of intelligence.
Sweet & Low is never around.
Have to touch your hand.
The fragrance just in between lust and love.
Yesterday I was someplace else.
31 hours of bliss.
The bumblebee in the room is looking for nectar.
Take off your watch and throw it to the sea.
Fishing for complements.
Backhanded insult.
Mint gum and a silence filled abyss.
Band Aid for the ego.
�Wake up dear, it�s time for me to go.�
Words hang from your mouth.
Pools of wisdom and still make mistakes.
Never see the sign.
Longing through a window.
Feel the wind in the air.
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