When we met my palms
were sweaty and your synapses
were sensual. It felt like a date, and
I needed a beer, you had a Savanna.
"pish-posh my bestie is polyamorous, and
I’m kinky so who am I to judge?"
You smelled like bobotie, what American smells like …agh? Anyways you were distracted by cricket on telly, then I remembered you told me you were a bowler. Then you asked me if the kid that called you poes REALLY meant cunt because gosh what five year old ... ? Then you mentioned your love of Rodin, so I mentioned *just now* talking about him with my mum. Next day while you were in the guestroom, she said we were “soul-mates” and I agreed even though I’m a skeptic?
And when my bipolar diagnosis came in four days later, you insisted we’d still hang that weekend because “that’s what friends do when one is depressed.” But eventually I felt a bit better so we had a day-trip. First to the museum where you elf leapt over tricky steps and exclaimed “Ooooh Baskets!” Next at the winery you were more interested in the sculpture outside, our Japonesque amuse bouche, and vines than the wine. But last thing remember from our adventures was you standing in the pouring rain on the hill in front of Rhodes memorial, and I warmed by your smile while taking a picture.
I wanted to spend
before you left.
So I did!