She carries herself with reserved authority
– a pose –
she delivers with her own authenticity.

Like a middle-aged woman
she seems to be acutely aware
of her body's misgivings and
all her shortcomings.
Radiating
her laconic individuality:
In her presence
I feel comfortably fine.

She loves to get drunk
– mostly red wine –
and she gets stoned
as if it was something totally new.
I find her utterly conventional,
at times,
when she hosts
friends that are coming over
to drink with her
just to get high.

Until I discover her again
with fascination
smoke and smile
like the woman
I can see her one day become.

She laughs
at expressions of mine
I hold to be funny.

And she looks at me.
Watches me.
Never ignores me,
but actually waits for me –
Seconds, longer even –
until I look back!
And when sometimes I do
her eyes fill with reassurance
– a slight recognition.

I find myself mostly marveling:
her impeccable skin
her tiny teeth
her short figure
and her womanly curves.
A spectator, struck,
by a fact
that is both so obvious
yet feels ever so obscure.