One Day Stand (to Bucharest)
I enter you
while darkness masks your features.
Hundreds of bowed faces
shift to hint at people I’ve known.
Her smile.
His nose.
I want to run through your streets
chasing ghosts.
Your money feels cheap.
Fake.
It slips between my fingers.
Slick.
In the first dishwater drips of dawn
your curves entice
an ache for familiarity.
I wish I had known you for you.
I stare unfocused
unseeing.
I let you become undefined
splashes of color.