I see you, in the park, the one with that enormous statue of some general astride a horse that has one leg lifted into the air. The leg signifies something to do with how the man died according to a travel guide I overheard one day, although for the life of me, I can’t remember what. I lift my hand as if to wave to you and in that moment I wonder a lifetime of desires. Do you dream of me like I dream of you? Oh, not like that, nothing naked and sweaty, more like spending time together, walking together, taking about everything and nothing, comfortable and safe enough to explain that I have one descended testicle and one ascended testicle that makes for an awkward orbit when I stand and you nod in sympathy, and every once in a while, you smile at me, like you are smiling right now, only it isn’t at me; you are smiling at the younger man over my shoulder posing in imitation of the general and he waves back. I lower my impotent hand and I can feel the top of my balding head blush in the sunlight. I feel the lift of the horses leg.