In the moment his eyes met mine.  You know the look,
like we were reincarnated of Cleopatra and Mark Antony,
all those men who squandered fortunes
seeking grace amongst the folds of her skirts.
It was the way his eyes lingered in mine
when I brushed his arm to pass by.
It was slight inhalation of soft smelling soap
and aftershave that made me pause.
It was I time bomb buried in recollection of adolescence,
stomping his foot on stage while he sang to me.
On stage he pretended it wasn’t just me.
But when he stepped down,
the intensity of his gaze hurt,
almost changing my mind about the lateness of the hour
and what was waiting for me at home.