The Cheque Comes

As we creep closer to cliché:
I feel I must set straight some items on our tab.

Like the way I catch you looking at me
As we sit silently on the subway.
Or when we walk.
Or as I am absorbed in my plate of food.
And out of the corner of my eye I feel you
With a half-smile and photographic eyes.
Staring through my stupid serenity.
I must protest; my guard is not up around you.
You see my soul.

Like the laugh that tumbles
from your lips so frequently in my presence.
A noise so satisfying
That the ability to generate it
Is stupefying.

You ask me, sometimes:
(and I return the favor on occasion)
Doesn’t this or that scare me?
I tell you honestly:
When we are together nothing scares me
Except subway rats
And the perpetual danger of killer statues.

When we separate small doubts creep;
That scares me.
What spell have we cast that insulates my brain from fear?
The answer to that question lies in cliché:
And as I’ve said, there is a tab to be paid first.