Today’s this page with your lips
doodled in one corner
whispering the words
you shouted this morning
from across the square:
“Meet me at the sidewalk café, the one
with the stringless guitar player!”
Suppose the air’s balmy
and I sit just so,
the gazpacho’s spicy
and you like it too —
maybe I’ll be brave enough
to ask for a stroll
under the arboretums
Imagine us kissing in soft shadows,
you leading me to your breezy bedroom,
birds beserk on maple boughs
outside an open window
Hungry again at sunset,
we’ll have dinner
at a place I know by the river
where the moon floats on slow water
in a creamy love dessert
Tomorrow will be a number
someone printed yesterday
on a page we tore
into tiny petals
for the wind to keep