voyeur

March 30, 2011 § 1 Comment

While you were having that apero at the Winnigo, I was taking your picture from the outside. Fake tisane covers your perimeter, I can see through the window, even in my concealment. The waiter drops you a note.. Mister Shields will be late he says. The poor man ran into some traffic (enclosed).
The man-suitors will show up late for dinner again and again. It is only excusable when you’ve let it become just that. I’ll suggest that you look around with your corner lids because you can’t be seen talking to yourself in a public space. That’s just strange.
No, never that. You’ll order the filet de saumon then choke it out later. Hopefully, your insularity will lead you to someone else’s table, at the other side, a nice place for you to join. I’ll be watching that too.
Remember, you aren’t the first woman to be upstaged in a restaurant. Not the last.
I know that if you move out of the window pane, I’ll need to move with you. Run those parallels. The secret is to get closer when you find the target to be engaging in something private, something customary. When the target blinks for the seventh time, you know that she’s undisturbed. If she twiddles her hair it’s that she is completely comfortable and unaware of your presence in the room or of your wandering eye.
But you haven’t found anyone and you won’t because you came to see a specific someone and they let you down. You keep looking at the entrance. Mister Shields described himself specific to his features, leaving little doubt in passing. The first e-mail exchange did not admit to any desperation. He told you he was handsome (no surprise) without mentioning any grays or significant biological clues. You took to that and your enthusiasm was clear in the return mail. With little depth, he lures you in.
The forty fifth minute of tardiness is pursued to the last second. Not once do you grab at your phone. I expect you to be frantic. Rather, I want you to be frantic. You disappoint me in your marked self control. In your pursuit of men, were you turned away? I can’t imagine that. You are beautiful and wise. I can sense this and many other things. You don’t even know.
I never dreamt of the women with whom I’d actually been with in person. They couldn’t compare to what I was doing on such a profound level. The peak of my powers lay like egg shells on the ground. The power I could yield over any woman from a distance was ever clearly the most dominant force I’d train myself to learn. I wasn’t born a wench. To be fair, I try not to be affected by perversion. In your eyes, this lie could be torture, but there is no law preventing me from peeping from a roof to see a woman sunbathing alone with her dog and a newspaper that I could read I was so close.
The waiter brings you some wine par hazard yet I don’t remember you ordering anything at all. I don’t look to recognize the bottle, or decipher the waiter’s lips. The more that I come to know, the less I am inspired. But in your lips, I find great refuge.

devin charitonidis

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