And there were stars

When you’re a poet, the people in your life might ask you to write a poem about them. This poem is about a glorious first date.

If I write it down in the book
 we'll be sitting at Arriva's forever
 ordering bottle after bottle
 of chardonnay while the plump
 restaurant owner flirts with you
 and I flirt with you and the napkins
 and the crystal and the wide platters
 full of fat pasta flirt. We'll never leave
 the party, bumping into each other
 like balloons all down the alleyways.
 I'll write "and then we kissed"
 and we'll kiss again, mad with celebration
 and then I can go back
 to the first pages and see you
 cheek in hand, smiling at me
 and I'll reread that part wondering
 how it could be written.
 There might be flowers
 opening in a vase or sparrows
 hopping around on the sidewalk
 or perhaps I've forgotten
 the accordion player
 and how he paused by our table
 to play something Italian
 and romantic. I'll write "and there were stars"
 because there were
 and when I get to that part
 I'll tape the pages
 at their corners so the end
 will always lead back
 to the beginning.