Melinda Josie

And I wrote those reasons
on the ruled grid

of an index card
to preserve the moment, madam,

when the panels of the hotel
elevator closed,

leaving just us.
A sigh and a kiss

did nicely, lady,
but when the doors

opened again,
you were again nowhere

near, and now
the file card’s lost too,

with its logical
numerical slate.

I’ve misplaced this and that
over the years, dear,

but the things I miss most, miss,
are listed on that card.

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