Rather hot summer night-
Nothing special, nothing different-
In my mind’s eye I ran my finger down the line of hair
That ran from your chest
Before it disappeared beneath your shorts
As the breeze blew open your shirt and I caught the smile in your eye
As you read my thoughts.
With your short dark hair-
Amid a season of blondes that I was tiring of-
Who I never kissed or lay with,
Who I never undressed outside of that one dizzy dream.
Later that night-
Fuelled on cocktails while our friends fell distracted by a jovial waiter-
You took my finger and brushed it along that same hair line.
Just that fine line between you and I.
With your eyes which shone that night towards a blue shade of green,
With your black jeans, red shirt
And tan which stopped just short of where that line disappeared.
We told tales,
But time, in its humour,
Fell shorter than either of us had imagined.
You seemed like the first man I’d seen in such a long time
Having been lost for a while in a sea of bleached blonds-
All as harmless as they were hairless
While I cavorted about their baby soft skins
With careless concerns for complacency.
But you looked like something else
On that fortuitous night
As the setting sun sizzled
And breezes briefly blew bodies bare.
That tremendous night when nothing really happened
Except for the soft touch of that line I never managed to cross
The line I never managed to forget.