Just met, we here at table sit,

Hard, hard bright, your eyes.

My hand, you’re quite, quite fixed on it;

Close, close to yours, it lies.

The waiter comes, our cups clinks down;

Pours the coffee—rich, dark brown.

He goes. You, you almost smile.

This, this is a hard, slow style.

Our hands, two inches—two, apart.

How close, how far, is heart from heart?

But—not two inches! No! It’s less!

They jumped? Unseen? How? Confess!

Your eyes softened—- for innocence;

My fingers too, too stiff, too tense.

Our other hands lift cups; we sip.

Oh, what shine upon your lip!

Grasp! Clasp! At last, take hold!

You have silver! I have gold!

Yes, yes! Confess.—-we do!

“I wanted wealth! Now l’ve got you!”

For coffee, we at table smile,

Two trillionaires, at ease.

Our second cup will last a while,

And so, so will pressing knees.