Anticipating

My gaze traveled carefully at your profile - hunched, world-weary and heavy with sighs, the scrotum of your fantasies shriveled and dried. The shadow of your hand moved reluctantly from the table. The crushed apple bits crowded comfortably in your glass. Your fingers hugged the cold of the fruit juice while it lasted.

Then I imagined you reminding yourself of his ghost on the opposite chair.  He would've made a joke about the height of your newly-colored hair.  Your wrinkles would have laughed easily with the crescent of your smile.  He would have forked the silence from the table to his mouth.  How easy it would have been to hear
the boom of his laughter, the deep heavy breaths -- if only he was there.

I'd like to know how it felt - the hardness of his metal chair.  But you'll have none of it or any others - you'd rather have air.