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Tonight, I ate calamari and popcorn for dinner
and imagined what it would be like
when you kissed me for the first time.
I assumed you would be the kind of man
who asked first,
then, half a moment after yes,
pulled me in with the force of Don Juan or
Petruchio dancing the pasa doble.
I predicted your lips would be
simultaneously rough and tender.
I am remembering our embrace
before it has actually happened–
I am perpetually waiting for
Fitzgerald to strike his tuning fork
and make it so.