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.