On the crosstown shuttle, just standing room
by the time she got on in the morning rush
and each day he rose from the seat he’d claimed.
Face flushed, she acquiesced.
It was a ritual dance
they practiced with natural grace.
Though the ride was rough, the waft of her perfume
was worth it. He needed no more thanks, nor did he get it
for she was as reticent as him.
A knight of bold deeds and chivalry for the duration
of this ride to the city, the shy smile made her his lady
as surely as a scarf bestowed.
Too soon the crosstown trip was done;
real life reclaimed the starring role.
They will meet again tomorrow,
same time, same perfume.