Like the opening scene
in a Broadway play
we met, you won’t remember,
in a hotel lobby.

Blustery cold outside,
I’d taken refuge in
overstuffed chairs, mahogany tables,
paneled walls, low lights.

I settled in, ordered wine,
readied paper and pen,
to wait and warm
amidst creative spirits.

Ghosts of literati
sat around a nearby table
inhaling inspiration,
exhaling creativity.

I readied pen and blank sheet
hoping for a breath
of Dorothy Parker’s muse
to excite a worthy phrase.

You sat across from me,
tall, bespectacled, tweedy,
distinguished, confident,
snow melt on your overcoat.

I fancied an introduction,
dinner by candlelight,
poetry by a crackling fire,
warm hugs in cool linens.

Our eyes met once.
Yours were gray, calming, tired.
Your wine arrived. I sipped mine
and sighed a silent toast.