I thought it was the We
I could see,
underneath our overcoats of ordinary.
We stared at each other,
skirting around our dresses,
hoping for a morsel of close,
some free-will, blown by the wind.
But the glasses we each wore were different –
Mine, mostly made for reading,
a matronly angle across my nose –
Yours, a humble, horn-rimmed set,
belied the hatred behind the glare of glass.
A non-love, not of me, but of your own, beguiling self.
My vision could not pierce this.
No infra-red roar
no laser love
no x-ray specs for me.
I squinted at you sideways.