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



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