cold soup

having never had
cold soup
before, it surprised me,
this red bowl
of beet broth,
chilled. I brought
it to my lips
and raised my eyebrows.
saying nothing.
I was young.
hardly a hair on my
chin
that needed to be shaved.
no fat on my bones,
barely a brain
ticking
within my skull.
she wanted to kiss after
we ate,
me sipping at the strange
soup
with a hard spoon
as we sat
in her studio apartment.
there was an ironing
board near the window.
a potted plant,
and a picture of home,
wherever that may have been.
so we kissed
and almost made love.
which wasn't love at all,
but something else.