Waterloo

He sits down and fishes the ring out of his pocket and
slides it on, opposite him I watch, wondering
if he is sad she didn’t kiss him, wondering
who the ring is from/for, he folds his
hands together wondering maybe why I look
at him, there is silence in the carriage
muted by the howls outside there is silence
in me as I watch wondering
how she would slide off her ring for me
slide out of her carriage for a sudden sunny
afternoon. The doors hiss and open
for the fog to kiss the warmth. Why do we
keep searching for warmth
even as we can only ever be fog.

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