Tuscan Feast

This love began across

a long table full of Italians.

Something about a long table of Italians.

It looks like they got living figured out,

the crowd broken into clusters,

One set of lovers, another “Is it I, Jesus?”

Another laughing, another trying to get

the waiter’s attention for an espresso

before leaving for the party they will never find.

Our love ended then,

when we saw each other,

and I hit on your friend,

who wasn’t really your friend anyway

and kissed you on the cheek

and heard about your ex

and entered you partway

before staring at the sky and waiting

for lightning.