Sixty Four

 I'm not doing anything
 this weekend
 and I should dearly love
 to love you.
 I could take you to a
 small delicatessin down the street.
 Do you like
 avacado quesadillas? I could make you one.
 I would laugh as we walked
 along the beach
 and you could erase all
 the memories that only make the skin on my shoulders
 twinge, slightly, now
 as you carefully moved a strand of hair behind my ear.
 This weekend,
 do you feel like knowing that
 someone cares about you more than
 poetry? For I'm not doing anything
 and I would dearly love
 to love you.