Woke up with this in my head – I don’t usually write poetry, but here goes:
I gave my order to the guy behind the deli counter, and saw him
The man who spurned me.
The man I mooned over, cried over, would have lived and died over.
He could’ve had my heart on a dish.
His eyes were still green.
His dark hair still curled just so.
His body straighter and stronger than even I remembered it.
We exchanged pleasantries.
I turned back and my order was wrapped and ready.
I unwrapped it in the privacy of my kitchen.
To my surprise it had not been cut –
Thinly sliced so I could arrange it on a platter.
But was somehow,