i didn't miss them,
but today the daily tensions return
ratcheting my body
crank by crank
back to its proper torque.

the little ways i annoy her return
one by one
like waves
seeping into wet sand.

am i reading or writing
the expressions that move across her face?
like water, the depth can be seen on the surface
if only it could be deciphered.

thomas has had very little sleep.
we talk in a red booth by the window.
behind us, morning slowly wakes.

blue night deepens outside
but we are warm
thinking of cobblestones on a hot summer day.

hunched against the cold gray morning
we talk of the weather, saunas, utopias and hashish.
the waiter leans dangerously back
to take our picture.