Italian Restaurant

Table for two by a crackling fire-
the hostess could see something in our eyes.
Our waiter kept filling our glasses with a smile.
Your Pasta Diavolo was spicy-
"Just like me," I said with a grin.
"Yeah. But you're sweet, too."
Your knee touched mine.
Your finger brushed the silky fabric on my shirt,
and lingered there. I felt my skin through your touch, your eyes.
I couldn't help staring into them; so green and clear.

You talked about physics, and I was interested...
because it was you talking.
I couldn't help touching your hand--you'd warmed mine
in the car, on the way from the airport.
Then, my fingers had hesitated before finally curling around the fingers
lacing through them.
At the restaurant though,
I took your hand and started gently kissing and biting your knuckles.
You lost track of what you were saying,
and had to shift in your chair.
I smiled, and glanced away before returning your gaze.

We made it home quickly, you following me in your rental car.
Back in my room-it seemed like you'd never left--
I found myself being lifted and carried to the bed,
as your lips kissed mine.
They were gentle at first, then more insistent.
I was ready.
I was ready when I first saw you pull up in your car.
I was ready before you ever got here.
You fill me up in a way that's right.
We laughed and played and lay there on the bed.
I felt sexy and silly and complete.
I think people hope for that; I know I do.
I was in your arms, and the warmth was unimaginably right and true.

With words, I try to frame the picture,
to wrap the present and all its meanings;
to capture something that may not last.
But last night, when you lingered and murmered,
"We still have some time, right?" it was perfect.
We were perfect.