Lonely Girl,  poetry,  writing


For a moment, I thought I caught something

In the way you glanced over

In the way you caught my eye as if in a sudden flash of recognition

…at least I think you did

Could I be wrong?

I often am about such things… as lonely people can be on a snowy, despairing Sunday night

I never learned to play this game

Never got how strangers



Slipping, sliding

In between each other’s hearts

Sharing silent secrets

Only to later pass each other in the night

As if it never happened

As if lust didn’t matter

I tilt my head to get a better view

I watch as you slowly, deliberately, peel off your leather gloves

One by one

As if feigning a striptease

Your naked hands

Confess, possess


But a small stack of books

Chekhov, Jung, Stephen King

Lovingly held

Confidently held

I swallow hard and restlessly flip a couple of pages in the gossip rag I’m reading

Could I be in over my head?

But then, you turn to take another look

And my lashes flutter as if on cue

I decide to decide

That yes, you’ll do

Who cares what books we have in common

In the end

It always comes down

To the same dirty deed

To the same… despondent need

I take a sip of my green tea frappuccino-lite

Licking my lips

I push my breasts out, feeling foolish

And a little bit crazy that I’m still doing this at thirty-eight

I watch now

As you fumble to pay

For your creme cake, your pick of the day

I break a cold shiver as it dawns on me

That you might actually come this way

And if you did

What would I say?

Suddenly I fear the worst

But there you are anyway

Scouring my face, searching for acquisition

Or is it just a tumble that you’re looking for

No, no,

I don’t know you

Your approach is that of a stranger


My heart takes a sharp dip

Lunging low

Circling my jagged pulse as if to find a place to hide

Our eyes crush

Bravely, I take in your assessment

Of what I am – of what could be

I hold my breath and count to ten

You blink and walk away.