my husband drank the champagne
places the glass upon the books -
with the wet circle of time eroding it's texture
& leaves without a word;
i fondly remember the liquid as it tingled
the rounded receivers in the back of my throat
as you begin listing childhood vows half-heard:

when i grew older, my breast burst my shirt
before they would have been swept along your moist avenue
each piece of my dark hair, a simple dark river
your fingers sailing succedent softly in time:

softly spoken breaths, miraculously enjoyed
and our eyes were journeys past cold wooden floors
and paint fumes and dust:

as subtle as the refined taste of apples
of champagnes, of golden streams only in dreams
our letters in respected stokes have crossed lifetimes
further before they crashed to the Earth
not so tragic
but floating as wingless birds