Outside the bar last night
As I waited with you at our formica table
I thought how beautiful you were,
In your little red dress,
Wavy black hair pushed behind your ears,
You and your deep, dark eyes.
Then, in the cinema later
When the opening credits rolled
And you looked at me
Your finger to your bee-stung lips,
It crossed my mind whether you are the kind
To ever reflect on your life,
The kind to pour over every cellulose acetate
In search of a memory
Or a lost and fleeting feeling.
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