and I told her I was
dreaming about her.
The one last night
was about keys. We were drinking
tea and I cannot remember
what she was wearing
or what my face looked like,
reflected from the
finish on the table, but there was
candelabra as the center piece
between the gold leaved saucers and
it was early in the evening and
the crumbs of crisps on a plate
and we talked for hours
about collected things
while we compared
found Victorian keys
neither of us managed to part
with and sipped
hot shreds of water stewed leaves,
turning each minute
toward steam punk space invaders,
but I left the last part out,
talking to her now,
because that would just be weird.
