I wanted to feel the skin
of her back curve under
my adolescent palm,
the taste of a half-smoked cigarette
on her tongue,
I wanted to hear her thick German in my ear
reading poems about full moons
and dark forests,
I wanted her to hand me that photograph,
of her sitting on the lounge chair
with a switchblade twinkle in her eyes,
I want her to say Please, have this photograph,
I’ve been saving it
for you.
