Comet Tail Solar Confession

By R. Gerry Fabian

When I first met you, it was in the summer. You were the red haired beautywho blazed through life on the tail of a metaphorical comet. The first kiss had an awkward excitement about it. Our space explorations knew no bounds but as the sweet corn rose in the fields, I need to return to the asphalt teaching roads while you never knew roads existed.

The second time I met you was at a charity fund raiser when you had become a woman who brokered six figure deals as easily as saying, “good morning” to a stranger. At first, you didn’t recognize me and just dutifully shook my hand in the evening line. Later, you found me, apologized and asked me to dinner the next evening. The dinner was exceptional with oyster appetizers and three different wines to accompany each course. In an effort to save face I offered to pay the tip which was just over one week of my salary. You told me you were leaving for Paris for some business spatial galaxy involvement and would call me when you returned. You never did.

The third time I met you, You sent a private eye to find me. He was so bad that he actually approached me to ask if I could help him find me. After that confusion was resolved, you invited me to luncheon and sent a limo to pick me up. I wore a buttoned down collared blue pinstripe shirt and new blue jeans. It was a Tuesday in the middle of August. An August that resembled a late September cold front. You met me on the top step outside the restaurant and asked me to sit on the top step next to you. I found this disconcerting. You reached over and took my right hand and placed it in yours and then placed your left hand over it. A sharp chill stung me.

“I want to return to earth and when I return, I want your love to secure me. It’s taken me this long to appreciate the gravity of your love.”

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R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA. He has published five books of poetry: Parallels, Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts, Wildflower Women, Pilfered Circadian Rhythm as well as his poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.