Afterwards, I caught you in the bathroom, eyeing the stubble
that had gathered under your chin in the night like the first signs of a storm.
You seemed satisfied by how things took shape,
even gave the reflection of your eyes a vain little wink.
Tonight, I propose that I draw you a portrait in the dark to be honest
to the way that knowing works between people like you and me.
I, for one, do not pretend to know much of anything.
You’ll take it as you leave, look at it out on the street to see
what I understand of you, if such a thing can be, blindly executed.
Perhaps you will knock a moment later or never call again.
I will look in the mirror with less satisfaction at what I see.
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