Originally published at Seven-Sided Die

like freshly branded impressions onto soft spiritual flesh;
and will you be my Facebook friend?

A hand shake,
an honest greeting,
an exchange of names nested on
an assumption that somewhere down
the winding and unknown road that is the
future, our two paths could well collide again.

What we take and leave behind in those
first moments where egos meet —
face-to-face —
strangers desperately reading the other seeking,
more than anything else,
common ground from which to relate
or discord from which to repel.

How concise must be the elevator pitch,
to compress decades of life
into a several-minute speech,
where every word and stumble thereof,
every gesture and unconscious twitch,
is likely recorded and scrutinized at neuron-firing speeds.

Tailored lines and friendly good-byes
does compel curiosity
over whether our interaction was
a fleeting memory quickly forgotten,
or stone from which a foundation is
constructed and a monument built.