Too sensitive
Too fine-boned
Too vulnerable
Too fragile a beauty
Whereas, I was
All that and not
Too available
Closed and passive
As a bivalve
No venus on the halfshell
I shuddered
As I saw myself
In his eyes
His rear view mirror
And turned my head away
For hours we would
Ride in silence
Enjoying the comfort of
The things we did not do or say
Say or do
Back in that year
The Year of our Lord
Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Two
Our Winter of Sixty-Two