When You Loved Me

When you loved me, you were in absentia most days -- then, the phone call, and the champagne, cooling in a bucket at some classy venue or another, of your choosing. But first, came the grilling on the hot-seat barstool, as it were, designed to disillusion me that I would matter much, underlining how easily you could leave without regret. Then, shifting gears, you'd give it up, because I was a thorough- bred, gracefully jumping your hurdles, rewarded with your pleasure, imagining me unintimidated, placated by a shower of gifts: baubles of silver and turquoise from Mexico, a gold bracelet of singular design, a spangled scarf I wrapped around my nude body before lovemaking, charming you with the child in me. But, mostly, I remember we scribbled on each other's backs as we lay together in the dark. I never guessed your messages, nor you mine. More vulnerable than you ever dreamed, I wrote "I love you" on your skin, knowing fingers were blind.