Tell me the story again,
the one where we meet at the airport

and you wonder if you will memorize this body
after our shoulders brush.

For I�ve realized all my old lovers
have a story like ours.

Let nostalgia warm the words
to a soft boil of duplicity:

My red dress can be blue
if that is how you feel about me today.

This time, I won�t stop at the liquor store,
or smoke the joint in the ashtray.

You won�t feel betrayed
by my stripped, industrial landscape.

You can reinvent what we never said
and only thought.

But before you decide, tell me again.


� 2004 by Jenni Russell