The Man Unmet, The Man Then Married - Poem by Tara McH
And after a few e-mail exchanges,
did I start to feel a frisson of excitement,
and an unwanted sense of disappointment
when they came merely from elsewhere;
and had I begun to care....?
And when I read more of his work,
was it with a knowing smile,
that I was right, having sensed all the while
that here was intelligence, a serious mind
leaving others standing so far behind?
And when writing became more personal,
did I write back with a sense of play,
but with a growing confidence
(and a fear that it might be misplaced)
that we would meet some day?
And when first I heard his voice,
did it send a shiver down my spine,
did I daringly imagine that some day
our bodies would intertwine,
and contemplate a time not far away?
And did I envisage how he might look,
his mind not a closed book
but, with no knowledge of his body,
creating visions of identity,
each beautiful and rare to me?
And did I feel my insides stir
when I imagined his finger trace,
caress, the curvings of my breast,
and the smiling on his face,
and the heaving of his chest?
And did I fear the coming of the time,
when enough would be enough,
when the timing was, well, tough,
that that first meeting was not meant to be,
though forever imagined special, internally?
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