Fantasy Meeting at Grand Central Station

Fantasy Meeting at Grand Central Station
by Carolynn Kingyens
Let’s say we run into each other unplanned inside a quiet terminal
between red-eye flights, or even better –
Grand Central Station at rush hour;
marching among the mobs – those coming and going, dragging their wheeled-weight baggage through the marble station to the stereo-sounds of routine announcements by a man with a thick mustache standing behind official-looking Plexiglas,announcing delays and early arrivals, a lost child and found tickets.
It’s here, among the chaos, that we’ll meet. I’m hot again in this fantasy-meeting, successful – a card-carrying somebody, someone who you would never
expect I’d turn out to be, and you – you will be regretfulthat you had let me go.
We’ll exchange superficial greetings as strangers often do,and lie about pending plans and exciting lives back home.
Over conversation, you will try to forget the small, Florida-shape birthmark on my inner-thigh
and I, the surgical scar on your right shoulder blade from a ski accident in Aspen when you were twelve,
kissing it that night I first saw you naked and vulnerable in my doorway.

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