ODE TO PATSY CLINE
I pull out her chair,
but it's you I'm seating.
She's fine with the beef carpaccio,
but I'm ordering for you.
I watch her savor her meal,
but it's your smile I'm observing.
I reach for the bottle,
but it's your glass I'm filling.
It's a Malbec.
We used to fantasize
about traveling to Mendoza,
sitting on a balcony
and gazing at the Andes
in the distance.
For dessert I request your favorite--flan.
We walk back to the hotel,
but it's not your hand in mine.
We climb the stairs to our room,
but it's not your arm I'm gripping.
We embrace and kiss,
but it's not your lips I'm caressing.
We crawl under the sheets,
but it's not you I'm holding.
In the morning I awake
and turn her towards me,
but it's not you.
It will never be you.
And I remain alone
but it's you I'm seating.
She's fine with the beef carpaccio,
but I'm ordering for you.
I watch her savor her meal,
but it's your smile I'm observing.
I reach for the bottle,
but it's your glass I'm filling.
It's a Malbec.
We used to fantasize
about traveling to Mendoza,
sitting on a balcony
and gazing at the Andes
in the distance.
For dessert I request your favorite--flan.
We walk back to the hotel,
but it's not your hand in mine.
We climb the stairs to our room,
but it's not your arm I'm gripping.
We embrace and kiss,
but it's not your lips I'm caressing.
We crawl under the sheets,
but it's not you I'm holding.
In the morning I awake
and turn her towards me,
but it's not you.
It will never be you.
And I remain alone
with my remembrances.
Comments
Post a Comment