bruiserboy

Guarded conversation under the awning,
the scent of rain mixed with cigarettes,
the tension, months of bitter silence,
broken by an awkward moment
Time has tempered the two of us
tongues like knives, once paired,
sheathed by tacit, public diplomacy,
but deadly when jabbed at the heart
Smile, smoke, question and answer,
pass time till the torrent fades,
endless seconds of cumbrous silence,
as we position the pawns in play