If You Know What I Mean

It was

The summer of my discontent.

The lawn was cool

Damp with dew

The amber moon framed

Within St. Louis’ arch

And the wide Mississippi

Moved inexorably southward

Every ripple like

Dancing diamonds

In the midnight city lights.

It’s easy to feel sorry

For oneself

When your pockets

And your heart

Are both empty.

Then she was suddenly there.

I said hello as she walked

Down the lane

Toward her car.

She looked at me

The way one might

Look at a stray puppy.

She shrugged.

She did not tell me her name

Nor did I tell her mine.

It was sudden and random

Almost impersonal

Yet deeply human.

She sat beside me

Kicking off her sandals.

Then, wordlessly

And slowly

She kissed me

And I kissed her.

It was not a kiss

For friends

Or strangers.

It was a kiss

For explorers

For those willing to live

Outside the parenthesis

Willing to laugh at meaning

And promise.

They were kisses intended for the making

Of chaffed lips

And bruised hearts.

And we kissed

Until the moon

Cleared the arch

Turned the color of morning milk

Climbing high above the city.

At three in the morning

She put her sandals on and said

That was nice.

I said

Yes.

It was.

And she left.

I don’t know who she was.

It really doesn’t matter.

But when I’m in St. Louis

And the moon is framed

Within the arch

I always get a little hungry.

If you know what I mean.