We sit, white tablecloth, over glasses full of sunlight
And I tell her
And she sips her drink and says
I know
I’ve always known
I apologize, I explain
As if it could ever be explained
I do not understand the urge to possess, to feel, to be
I do not understand and I am sorry
White tablecloth, orange juice
And she reaches out her hand and she touches my elbow, she touches my elbow, and all is finally right
I wonder if she knows that I think she could drink the very sun