I sit on the beach
And read Bukowski
And wonder if I am the only one.
Of course I'm not
But I think I am
Because I've always been prone
To believing
That I am different.
She walks into view
Like a sports car in traffic
Smooth with clean lines
Amongst the shapeless masses of others.
It'll fade for her too
I know that
But I want it like that
Want her like that
Want them all like that
Unchanging
Forever.
It's all academic though
Because she's with another
They have their problems
But she would have more with me
So I watch
And I want her
And I have no idea
Why.