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.
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