This is how it comes—my negligee above your head, your
hat stocked docile on the window-sill,
your cologne and my bracelet in a
beautiful war on the dresser.
This is how it comes, and how—

I might as well say everything in French.  Mon seul désir.  The
world is a latte and an engine.
It is this I return to, a vision of
you and
i,
a latte in our old car.