Day 25-Had I Not Gotten On the Train, That Day

If things had gone differently

I may have not missed 

the early train. Or perhaps changed

my mind altogether.

Had I not gotten on the train, 

                                that day, 

I would have never smelled the penetrating

scent of that delicate(so I thought, at the time) Lily

of the Incas, Alstroemeria.

As I wound up the staircase to

find my seat, I came face to face with

the orchids hidden deep within your eyes.

Which held me in a trance from the very

moment they met mine, forcing 

me to stake out your neighbor, to find out

when they would detrain,

pouncing on the empty seat. It

was I who was powerless

and fragile, no chance of escape.

I was a gazelle, innocently taking

a drink of crisp water, unaware of the 

Lioness lying in wait. You spoke to me

of Frida and Diego, you quoted Neruda 

and Garcia Marquez. That was bad 

enough. I was already a puddle (or

puddy?) where a man used to sit.

As I inhaled your delicious fragrance, 

intoxicating me, you suddenly burst

(no, exploded) into Your laughter. So

unexpected, yet like a volcano. The thunder

shook the train car's seats and rails, other

passengers turned round to see

the source of the storm, only 

to see me, glazed eyes, mouth half

smiling, floating a few inches

above the floor. 

You were not the delicate Lily of the Incas.

In fact, you weren't a flower at all. More 

like like the warrior Tupac Amaru with

a laughter that could make a hungry 

crocodile stop and smile. 

Had I not gotten on the train, 

                                that day, 

I would never known your depth,

intelligence, sense of humor. I

never would have known the person 

I would become,

by your side. 

I may have wandered the rest

of my days, content to sip the 

sap of delicate flowers, one

after the other, each sweet

in it's own way, but losing 

their flavor too quickly, leaving me 

filling full in the moment, but always

empty again.