Mayhem

I see you, I see me.
A dinner date in Paris.
There are candles and sweet music playing.

The waiter pours your wine.
Soft red sensuous lips drink in that fortunate vintage.
You are so achingly beautiful in the flame's light.
Like living breathing poetry made flesh.
Words that have come to life.
I think I read my future there and make bold to share your bed.

'A bed of lettuce perhaps' you laugh.
I am suddenly tiny and in salad. 
Your fork poised teasingly above me, 
Your radiant face flushed with hunger for my flesh.
How alike and yet unlike the way I long for you.

At this size you are indeed an open book to me.
I read with fear, I read with pleasure, I read with lust.
In the extraordinary tale that is Tina
This is my final line.