It began on a cocktail napkin
by Nancy Ellis Taylor

    a few tense minutes
    reflection over refraction
    contemplating bubbles
    and the color of your eyelashes

    wet the small heart
    i only carry violet pens
    it bleeds into the beer damp
    like memory and a new kiss

    the corner of your mouth
    the edge of smile
    i wipe the dangerous illusion
    and save it crumpled warm close

    later in the light of little
    beaded lamps alone
    with a sense of softness
    and clouds of friendly dark
    i know the pattern of tenderness
    and the number to order more






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