slipping

it’s been two years and
one fleeting glance between strangers
is still etched in her mind.

a lifetime can be lived in
a look,
the movies got that right.

some connections
feel like eternity but
it was three years ago when
her stomach first flipped –
wordless conversations seem to be
worth so much more.

a few evenings ago,
her arms were plunged in
sudsy, dirty dishwater and
the mug in her hand
blurred before her eyes
because her face was
wet too.

it is not only poetry that makes her cry.

when she lies in bed
tonight
she will stare up at the ceiling,
rub one shoulder
with the other hand,
wait for a sign.

a/n: Sleep still eludes me.