To Travel In Small Steps

Mind the gap, American!
         you're American
         anywhere you go
         these days
A nightingale melodic thrill
pierced the rumble mumble
of Osaka Grand Central
something or the other.
         I wasn't there for place names
         but for faces
         and smells
For a face I turned,
and for a smile...
         curious black pools
         and a white enamel line
         behind shy lips
...to melt
right before the gap,
and lost my speech
for a second.
What glimmers deep in there?
Why does her hair fall
like so...
         golden cut angle
         geometric perfection
         even while caught
         by swirl and whisp
...and who ignited that fire?
But a crooked Thank you
escaped my lips
somehow at last,
and my sweaty palm
extended a greeting,
         careful not to crush
         her slender shape
to introduce
Kimika, passer-by, goer-north.
Come, American. Better seats
in the other end.
         and who the hell
         was I to argue?
Some hours passing by,
diversion, new smells
and a face ever imprinted
when I close my eyes.
So where you going, American?
So am I, oh let me show you
all the things I love.
         there are so many fractions
         of any given place...
         ...the Great Dragon
         no exception
A day and a night,
fast forward by,
to a Tokyo morning
and two happy
but hung over travellers
         still quite strangers
part way
on a summer dry street
with a tight hug,
and a kiss on the cheek.
         the only one I got,
         but I don't mind,
         I got faces and smells,
         demand nothing more
And I never got around
to tell her
I'm not American.
So I guess I still might be,
somewhere up north
from Osaka Grand Central
something or the other,
when she close her lids.