A Lasting Moment

I would capture every scratch of your beauty,
even if I only had a leaking ballpoint pen
stolen from the stationery cupboard
of a mid-range insurance firm that no longer employs either of us.

You'd laugh if I told you,
an explosive joy I would save onto tape,
lamenting a lack of cassette player,
whilst remembering my lack of artistic talent.

Poems should be written about your unexpected,
the way you go left after veering right,
your desk perfect harmony and pockets overflowing
with proof your days expanded farther than that place.

If I could only see you again
—give me fleeting minutes, chance encounter on the street—
I'd document your smile for this last time,
second last chance to say goodbye for good.