Roslyn talked of him often.
I massaged her frustration
with an empathetic expression
baked in my eyes,
wrinkled at the corners.
But what she told me was nothing
of the romantic kind.
I’d listen as Roslyn spoke in circles
to justify his behavior before he left
her for the arms of another one night
stand that turned into more
than he’d bargained for.
Roslyn’d been crying in a wine glass
at home alone.
Being friends had its place,
but only if the way I’d wanted
things to remain left nothing unchanged.
I swept her off her feet, as a suitor does.
We agreed to a November wedding.