Your Face Reminds Me
Your face reminds me of lines I need to write.
Your lips speaking poetic words about this world
we visit when it’s just us two.
In the room where love came to find us long ago.
I was so far from anything relevant
and you were very bitter like strong coffee.
Late afternoons, the sun slanting in through the blinds--
stripes on the lined shelves of literature.
A place where all else falls away, unnecessary.
Pushing the papers and opened books aside,
sudden lust was a visitor we welcomed.
Pleasure had to be restrained there,
kept quiet as a shameful secret we shared.
What do I miss the most?
The urgency.
I miss the urgency.
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