Mr. T.

Moving swiftly through crowds of those only interested in their own happiness, holding a wrapped-in-a-brown-paper-bag-sandwich in his hand
I would never guess who he was had I not known and knowing made me follow, moving in a rhythm of his panther-like nature
We were dancing and he didn’t even know it until I rushed and stood ahead of him as one does in tango
No words, only instinct
And no rose in his mouth, only questions
Questions that were unspoken for it all happened in a minute that then took him his familiar route, while telling my instinct to go sit on a bench and focus on my own happiness
If his happiness were to (then) lead him back to me, I would wait for as long as it took 20 minutes to go by.