She speaks to me in faithful dimples
while I pour us drinks long into the night,
listening to her verbal amber.
Analogy is infinite when she smiles.
And the heart?
It waits and waits, always in expectation,
without fears.
Le me never forget why she speaks to me.

Oh blackguard heart, banged knees,
evil defiler of shoes. Jealous automaton
of one memory lapse after another,
let me never forget that I am graced
with her interest.

But I have seen all of them
lose their memories of me,
take back their touches, smiles, hopeful sighs,
take back their voices of concern
though I said to myself
it was just March
when the scalp itches
for the sun’s heat,
believing for awhile,
it could work out,
somehow enjoying the pain,
their joy, their perfume,
elsewhere.