First date

I see them at a distance first. 

Tall, nicely tailored pants, 
a hat not made for this weather. 

Then their voice. 
Deeper than I had imagined, 
and gentle, saying my name. 

Then their voice telling jokes 
and laughing about something 
you wouldn’t understand,
but I do. 

The plants at the conservatory
distract me marvelously
from my rain-soaked jeans 
and the awkwardness 
of being alive

and the terrible vulnerability 
of the reason for our meeting.
I am thirty-two, and I have never
been loved – really loved – and 
they are thirty-three, perhaps 
just as open