The train rumbles and wends across the city center 
at a precipitate pace, its bowels clogged
by reticent commuters lost in private thoughts
of to-dos, aches, deadlines, sleep, debts, losses, 
things to have said in long-gone conversations.
Then without warning she steps off the platform 
onto my rail car and sits opposite me, wearing red,
redolent of lavender, a conspicuous birthmark 
complementing lips puckered and glossed, skintight 
nylons catching my eye as she crosses her legs
and, succumbing to her suasive ways, I lose my train 
of thought to imagine what her name is and who she is;
what it would feel like to have her body, 
prone or supine, pressed against mine; 
the expression on her face when her toes reach her ears; 
the pitch of her panting as we climax in tandem.
I bypass my stop by seven or eight hopeful of a glance,
a connection transitory or lifelong, and when she alights 
I gulp sour sighs, detesting the tang of what if.
Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. in Drama & English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry was awarded the Harry Hoyt Lacey Prize in Poetry (Fall 2015), and his writing has been published in 300 publications in 30 countries.

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