Hey, sup? Shadowed by a name, while trotting
on by, in a courtyard, down a hallway;
passing by someone. It’s a saluting
sailor or the tipping of a beret.
It’s over in a heartbeat, but what if
there’s no reciprocation? Say I hold
my horses, give you the reins, hands stay stiff.
My eyes look away, as if I behold
Medusa. My tongue ties into a bow
when I encounter you, but don’t I bear
a burning passion to proclaim hello?
The boat does not rock, there is no affair.
When the day is done, is it set in stone?
Doesn’t everyone deserve to be known?