she me cold pizza and a bottle of bourbon
spending the night in by the fire, her hands
warming on my thigh as the movie begins—
something french though the mood is more italiano
between us . . . earlier deano crooned to highballs,
whiskey appetizers while awaiting the driver
with our thin-crust pie. her fire burns hot against my
skin, kindles something within, and I waxed
earlier for this, waxed poetic, and now the verse
folded in parchment I draw out to impress her
not merely a warm body — and willing, always
keep in mind the magic of willingness — we read
together during on-demand intermission
and the evening tunes out movie for true romance.

David M Pitchford
7 Dec 2011


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