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.
