Lunch at l’auberge

He arrives in murmuring blue
tie puffed like a poised rattler

He has brought a ruby flower
scent of languorous hours

"Have you never been to France?"

His face is sluggish
but his fingers fly

He finds a dear spot
behind her ear

"Tell me. Tell me."

Her eyes are ruby wine
and his
his eyes
his eyes are the ports of Le Havre