An old memory of you before I knew you.
I replay in my mind,
the time,
that I found you alone,
looking for conversation,
sat waiting for someone,
in your trilby hat,
and in your black coat,
sat there as if a vision of a distant past,
the 1940's or the 1950's,
stylish and elegant like Cary Grant,
yes, you,
sat at the bar looking into the mirror,
so, content with a glass of whiskey in hand,
with your civil sensibilities, and your intellect and your wit,
waiting to unleash them in some joyous revelry,
that in time I would come to always expect,
a moment, a moment before we met,
as you sat there with your smouldering looks,
and on first sight,
I presumed wrong you were a man of machiavellian ways,
but you were not at all like the image that I first saw,
you were the opposite, and now you are known to me,
your heart is as open as book could get,
and your mind how sharp it is,
and happily, here you are again,
a pleasure to see you as stylish,
and as elegant as a man could get,
waiting for me at the bar with a drink for you and me,
on a night in a bar like in the film Casablanca,
a night, a night that we will fill with good conversation,
and smiles and laughter,
a night that we will never forget.
