Hazel

Hazel and the leaving, and the wine, and the mention of it, and the wondering, is she? Does she? And I scurry back to the original position, and the pains of the day, and my back, and looking for some kind of improvement. And then thinking of tomorrow, and wondering if I should treat in the same way that I treated today, and colours of culture, facing onto me, and again wine, and sleek and kind and laughing. I walk away, and through the door of departure, wishing I could linger, and that this moment could too. And eyes, and the longing, and the ages, and the difference, and the odds, and reality, and this moment, in the now.