By | 1 May 2014

Who knew we’d like the same movie,
Lost in Translation? You brought the DVD
(which, in the end, we never watched together)
to the hotel room, along with cigarettes,
tidbits, and other paraphernalia
to heighten our play; barely stuffing
the holes of silences that widened
the closer we got to realising we had
little in common. Yet when we played,
the way you touched and not touched,
kissed and not kissed, like a child
who had entered fire and was terrified
to meet it again, a light
flickered within me like inside a dark room.
When things didn’t work out between us,
the last moment from the movie
unreeled in my mind, when Bill Murray
embraces Scarlett Johansson in a crowd before
they’re forced to part, whispering in her ear
words the audience cannot hear; I wanted
so badly to know what he said I could cry.

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