Once you gave me roses,
Yellow pink and red.
You cooked me up a dinner,
You talked me into bed.

But now it's only poppies
I'm given, if at all.
If you noticed I was slipping,
Would you let me fall?

Let me bring you coffee.
Let me cuff your sleeves.
Say you'll always love me.
Say you'll never leave.

Say you'll always need me.
Promise that you'll try.
Revive me if I'm silent,
Don't just let me die.

Remember when we twisted?
Remember when we sighed?
We slept, and then we didn't.
We laughed, and then we cried.

Or maybe I was crying.
It really got me down
That, when you saw me treading,
You left me there to drown.

You tell me that I'm pretty,
You tell me that I'm kind,
You say it's never-ending,
I'm always on your mind.

But no matter all the poppies
You give me by and by,
If my wrists were bleeding,
You would let me die.

I went to the river with my father.

He pointed and said, "look at the water.
Notice how it flows,
Like all things flow.
Like the words from my lips,
They drop
And drip
After flowing from the ocean in my head."

And we walked down to the riverbed,
And there we stood
Deep in the wood
Pondering how things flow and flood.

I'd give thee a lifetime, if given the chance,
Of all the love that rests in my heart.
I'd promise forever in pure romance
And wait for our life together to start.

But shall this fantasy our future be?
Yes, know we cannot, but, love, why not dream?
Or simply live this certain travesty
That comes with old Father Time's twisted schemes?

For winds may shake our dreams of enjoyment,
And cometh storms we can't seem to weather,
But know I'd accept full employment
To a journey we could take together.

                 For now, only simple dreams our love can be,
                 But don't let go, for I've left my heart with thee.

Why would he remember?
The times we kissed
And he held me
Inside his arms.

And I was young and lovely then,
Last year.
And I was loved and lively then.
And he was mine and I was his.

I was his lovely, breathtaking, ravishing creature.

Why would he remember?

Why would he look back and sigh at times when I
Discreetly shut my eyes
And fell asleep.
And he would watch me in his lap and feel somewhat mesmerized.

Tell me
The color of my eyes.

Did he forget my eyes?

The very ones he said he'd fight for,
Live for,
Die for.
They're still the same old eyes.

What color are her eyes?

And did he forget my smile?
I forgot my smile.
I left back in your room on your bed or in your car on the backseat or in the window seat where we watched the rain.
Or maybe it got twisted up in your curls,
Or between the sheets where we'd spend days
And nights,
Or maybe on the flight of stairs --
The ones you sat me down on and we said words and you
Stopped
Remembering me.

Maybe you'll find it there.

Though it could be anywhere.

And frankly
I want to forget
Too.

Watching lovers walk in the winter,
Kissing away the cold,
Slipping past those who grumble at the snow
And ice.

For, winter’s for the lovers.
The frosty windows,
The warm drink recipe for two,

His scarf, knitted by her.
Her hat, which hides her hair, curled with wonder and charisma.

And they are warmed by these hats
And scarves
And gloves –

But also by each other,
The excitement,
The love.

Winter’s for the lovers.
And the he’s and he’s and she’s and she’s and him and her –
They aren’t cold or wet or tired.

They’re only his and his and hers and hers and his and hers.
And the snow is too lovely not to share.

We approached the counter, side by side.

I said, “Ladies first.”

And, with a trickle of a smile and just a bit of teeth, she said, “I’ll have a café breve.”
The words left her lips in a solid, confident tone, yet they brushed my ears like a whisper.

I must have ordered the same, because that is what I got.

And we sat down in the plush brown chairs and she let her amber hair free from its tight bun.

And we sat. And we spoke.
I spoke of nothingness, I’m sure.

For that is what I remember – nothing.

But she spoke of her dreams, her future plans, her summer plans, her favorite colors and why they were the prettiest.
She spoke of smaller things, like the weather, her chair and why it was so wobbly.
And though it was casual and carefree, I couldn't help but be bewildered by the beauty she bore.

The simple beauty that hides behind closed door and open-mouthed laughs.

And we did this all as we sipped our drinks, gulping down the vague design in the coffee and steamed milk.

And, setting down her mug, I noticed she’d left a smear of crimson on the edge.

And as I stared at the lipstick settled on the rim, I quietly took in the rest of our surroundings –

The frosted windows,
The scent of fresh coffee and pastries,
The lonely barista, who was currently changing the background music CD from electro to smooth jazz.

And as the music began again, so did she.
And the whisper of her voice was like the whisper of the cymbals,
Ringing in time to the beat of the song.