In reality we're actually complete strangers to each
other not having previously met or even spoken
to one another before, yet intrinsically and
quite astonishingly strange, although by
no means peculiar in the least, a
consummate and remarkable
understanding seems to have spontaneously
developed between the two of us, that
had it occurred in circumstances
where, however transiently so,
we'd physically met before it
would instinctively have been
specifically categorized I know
and generally accepted by
those aware of it, including
ourselves, as a tangible
sign of mutual chemistry between us.
But in the clear absence of any concrete physical
or clear-cut emotional stuff, the pertinent and
engrossing question is, how should we
realistically define what's really going
on between us, knowing that the
present situation alone if left
entirely to itself is quite
evidently from both
our perspectives
perceptually
not enough?
© Stanley V. Collymore
5 September 2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem