One of us dreamt this moment long
before now: Strangers click ice-
cubes against teeth, glass. On the table
waits a bowl of olives.

•

Like the frozen-black eyes of boiled
shrimp, my eyes are unblinking as I
search the world for you, as I slowly
let out my tireless soul’s serenade.

•

On the day of the eclipse, I looked
for you under the splayed black sun,
in crowds of drunken torsos, thighs
armpits. This was before we met.

•

The day will be golden like fish
scales peeling from white fluffy flesh
marinated in olive oil, when our bodies
lie in the late noon sun.

•

I recall, don’t you, the day you spent
at the seaside with your first lover.
On that day, I raced motorcycles
in Malaga. Helmets gleamed like olives.

•

My wrenched heart flutters like the tiny
curling fish fried in batter that,
at a seaside restaurant, will
gaze at you with a thousand eyes.

•

On this day, the stars are dark against
the light sky. The ocean bulges between
my continent and yours. I reach
to touch my fingertips to your shining hair.

•

Your first words to me will bloom
from your lips with slick green petals,
thick as artichokes glazed with lemon
until I soften them in my mouth.

•

Olives wait in bowls, my love.
Your eyes are black and opaque.
Your nails are painted to match. Your
skin is smooth like olives.