A thumbprint on glass;
time and places that begin
to etch and fog---
eves when I fell
	beneath the lights,
	draped myself in hues.

	My muse, my love, 
explain to me how I am to forget 
such things 
as laughter,
when your scent fastens 
itself
	to my footfall?

	Tell me how it was 
then, under the sound 
of a saxophone and wine, 
that you first placed your lips 
to mine---
a warm sentiment, 
	fresh and soft 
as the moon
that hung between us.

oh, lover----
speak to me of those nights,
limb to limb,
dancing with the the wind 
bound
	to our backs.
Tell me was it pleasing
in both season and song?

And in those days
I could have forgotten
other men as I sat on the porch
	writing the words
	that you hoped 
would mark
us famous.

And how now as day breaks,
cold on your cheek, 
you come across poetry, 
	you---whose words 
I adore and it is then, 
in that one moment---
we begin to thread ourselves
into the pages, 
circling back to the city 
	where it all began.

there is but a short time to exist, love,laugh,live and never stop believing in miracles