Satisfied

I have a hundred loves and no love at all.

The man on the train looking at me though his paper. The clerk at the store, who now recognizes me; his hip son, who works without smiling. The men at work who smile when they see me, and the ones who don't.

Goofy men and serious men. Big boys and skinny boys. Quiet ones; rebellious ones. The ones with long hair and the ones with no hair. Intellectuals and jocks, geeks and musicians.

Glasses and beards and button up shirts. Their hands, their mouths, their shoulders.

When they let me go ahead of them. When they can't stop looking at me, even when they try.

I stand close to the men on the train and breathe them in.

Then I go home, and I feel...