eternal fiasco

in anticipation-

we find solace

excitement

verve.

but;

delaying this-

gesturing the waitress to the table

and then being undecided-

is madness.

I hear it in her voice:

the frenetic timbre

giving too much & not enough away;

what exactly does chagrin sound like?

she’s beginning to

believe my overtures

are hyperbole

and the possibility of this

…relationship…

mere conjecture.

My words-

my voice,

ersatz me.

longing for me to be kissing her

but

in this seemingly eternal fiasco

she’s just sitting there

kissing air.