I want to write
Of your caffeinated cajoleries
Of cold fingers
Around a steaming cauldron of dusky thrills
Of days when you and a hardcover were all I had
Of nights when you kept me awake
Page by page
To read between the lines
Do you remember the night
When I was reading to you
And you kept staring at the crack
In the glossy frame
That cages our first date
The crack from when it fell from the wall
Under heavy bombardment of a flower pot
Your then new Vietnamese cutlery
And a miniature gramophone
That played jazz
Of our first date
Do you remember the restaurant?
I read to you
And there was jazz, I guess
Which book was it?
We took a nice picture that night
Pictures are nice
Because they're still there
You looked pretty in red, or was it white?
There was champagne, or was it wine?
Anyway, we took a nice picture that night
You were smiling.
There was jazz.
You, clad in red.
Damn, that smile
Like a bookmark
Where we left off.