The Writer
andy glasser

In the corner silently speaking
Peering past the panel toward outside
I lose myself in relative darkness
I see the ladies, through my mind's eye, peeking
Cute and careful, beaming brides
Smiles slide down 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 theirs wide
My fiction more real than theirs, or 'least no less
And I smile (down my dress) at such détente
Then it leaves me, alone, and filled with want.

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