Andre

I’m sorry I thought you were somebody else-

Looking back now I think I must’ve

Planted a vine of illusion and climbed it for a solid

Three hours after we met.

But you weren’t the person I thought you might be,

And in some B-grade movie, where I untangled your fingers from mine

With a funny violence by the

Purple of the projector over our heads,

You laughed.

Probably because you knew better than I did

That the burnt out shell of a café where we had dinner

And your tens of menthol cigarettes

Were nothing but distractions from a

Roaring loneliness.