we're gonna have a black vespa, you and i.
for the two of us, it'll have to be black.
we'll tackle manhattan with that vespa.
find the perfect basket to fit our groceries,
abandon it on nights when we've drunk
too much at our favorite west village haunt.
returning the next morning for a restorative mocha
before we push in the key and speed back home. home,
where we'll collapse in bed with groans and giggles
and pass out till late afternoon. i'll wake to find you looking
right at me: lets do it again, you'll say. a slow smile will fill
me as i burry my head in that special, sloping valley
of your neck and you'll know i am
lost. i am yours. and i will go. of course
i will go.