water in a cup

water in a cup

fresh saltless cucumber smell

my new lips

tremble

at its lip

my teeth ache

i have i want i know i thirst

where are you, my love?

where are you?

i’m at a meeting.

the talk turns toward me

like i wanted

i wanted

to say there is a tradition

there is no tradition

there is a lot of tradition

behind renewing

behind no tradition

behind growing

but i wasn’t prepared

to hear

the collective

silence

to have someone else

say it

it was what i desired

it was painful

the talk toward me against me

ignoring me

and the cold

dripping

sponge

of her eyes.

i’m at a meeting.

i’m watching her watching him

confused, sad,

hurt by me, not him

i wasn’t prepared

i stood firm

i wasn’t prepared

not to be offered a beer afterwards.

meeting is love is meeting.