On an ordinary day lazily predicted to be similar to others before it
Your poet was in his mind drawing symbols in warm sand on his mental beach when he was interrupted
Woman, looking like she came to me on a mission with full knowledge of my goings inquired of my destination
Who are you written on my face in hurried cursive expressed by my face twitching as I held back disdain being interrupted
Before I could find a soft response she sat down at the table and said surely you’ve been looking for me
When I was about to declare her error, educating her of said ignorance, she leaned in and said, Edmond, I’ve been told you’ve been looking for me
See I’ve been looking for someone and was told just this morning it is you now what shall we do?