Bystander outside Arby's

I was watching them, oblivious
to my presence, oblivious to my car
across the street, indeed, oblivious and unconcerned
that there was any world surrounding them at all
that was more real, more concrete than the one
they were in, as I watched them.

Her body, limp as defeat and languid,
as only a lover's could be, fell again and
again to be kissed by the lips in the face
that held her gaze, and I thought,
I, too, know that secret.

They were holding on, holding on tight,
as though, if they held on tight enough, the clock
would stop progressing and the night
would never end--

they were not saying goodbye- you
don't say goodbye- they were kissing and
flying and screaming defiance at the soft
evening air, as if it could hear them,
and I watched, pitying, envious, cynical,
as my thoughts were turned
to other nights, other lovers, other
lips, and other goodbyes- you
won't say goodbye- and it's time for me
to go, and this
is hell, pure and plain, at its best,
when I have you in my heart--
but
I have you in my heart, not in my arms,
not in brightly colored thoughts, but other
thoughts, other dreams, but all the same,
all alike, all alive,
all too real to be anything other
than me, watching them,
so wholly unaware of the hollow
schism stretched between them.