A bouquet of yellow acacia

C. Heyne

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a bar serves wine cocktails a block away from a church

i won’t step in. though, with you, i’ll stumble along 

cobble’s cavern to the boob tapestry with lights & music –

a projector loops 70's dancers on the wall behind us &

all i crave is this too-expensive winetail & my wrist

in your hand as we feed ourselves to the projection. dance

grainy & offbeat with me, love. we’ll talk of lifetimes

we’ve collected; i’ll spill my obsession with floriography

& you’ll speak of victorians who spoke in flowers. we’ll

pause for sips & laughs & spurts of off-key vocals as we disgrace

songs with our untrained hearts. i’ll ask you about your partner 

later. for now, let me hear about your dreams &

your most sacred fears. i’ve imagined the end, & it’s nowhere

in sight. all i see are flashing lights in your eyes. i’ve imagined

the beginning, & it sounds a lot like the glass

clinking on the bar. i’ve imagined loving my body, & it 

smells like you. my hands don’t fit in my pockets, so 

they tango with one another to the tune of your obsession with

stage management. show me how you settle them.