Kristin (2nd draft)

The last time I saw you
we shared a dinner off a slingshot,
then curled up with our pillows
like willows in early winter weather –

I massaged the day off your body
and the light was like a t.v. mosaic
of seltzer bubbles in my fleeting
fling with a Tom Collins –

Your hands reminded me
of a comb across a balding head,
the careful caress of your nails
like club soda fizzling flat.

After those long summer days at work
I imagined some nights you dreamed of
Kindergartens and Cristkindlmarkts
under Allemagne skies.

I will give you, and you me, a child
and we’ll waltz through Marienplatz,
like two marionettes in tune
with strings untangled from today.