kdownes

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sitting on a bench,
they turn to talking –
each hoping the other sees through their lies,
each knowing the conclusion before it is reached –
a time honoured ritual amongst
ex lovers passing time as friends

she speaks first,
as if pre-empting his thoughts
and lays out again why they are here,
why they could, and will, never be
whilst he half listens, half dreams of her
lying sleeping in his arms

he knows when she will stop,
stepping in with the right words at the right time
like a perfectly choreographed dance routine.
whilst they exchange steps, she imagines what it would be like
to taste those lips
just once again

time passes unnoticed,
people wander by, some lingering as if to observe
only to continue unaffected.
after a while, they look into each other’s eyes
just a beat too long to be just a friendly look
each hoping to see in the other what they feel inside

at last, they stand together,
perfectly in time and hug
pausing in the warmth of the embrace just a fraction too long
before one breaks away, painfully,
and they say their goodbyes.

the bench watches them impassively
ghosts of their conversations lingering in its tired wooden frame.
it almost seems to sigh as they pass away into the distance,
only every unspoken word left between.