Two Left Feet

i met oliver for dinner tonight
bought him salmon and chocolate cake when he finished work sometimes i want to call him ollie but that’s what only you called him
i'm afraid it will make him uncomfortable it will bring about that tortuous silence we have both become so versed in
the stuff that speaks so violently loud that together we swim in thoughts of you
memories that are okay in quiet dark aloneness but too scary together i'm missing my art companion your homemade pesto and apple pie
and thanksgiving dinners us three together
you and i playing scrabble and him snoring on the floor i still have those purple slippers you knitted me for Christmas in the back of my closet
the felted two left feet that never quite shrank enough and flop around when i walk in them
he wears his grey ones around the house i know but i can’t bear to look down all of the time and think of you
so tonight we ate our chocolate cake together and talked of work and the weather
while all along I was thinking how very much he still needs you to call him ollie and tell him to tuck his shirt in and wear his nametag at work
it’s not the same when it comes from me
so this has become the dance we waltz together
round and round we go from silence to small talk and back againfor fear of getting too close and losing the only other one left