Cheap Wine

She's tall, taller than me,

With that little stoop that so many tall women have –

A little stoop, and one knee brought up slightly,

Allowing the foot to rest on its toes,

The hips swung to accommodate –

That makes her height seem almost attainable.

Her sweet, open face

Is prone to a look of happy shock,

Like a teenager in a first flirtation;

Her hands are slender and nimble.

We played backgammon

Over cheap wine,

Her fingers sliding graceful and quick across the board,

Counters clicking to some eternal rhythm,

Mine counting moves

Step by step.

Later, in the slip of orange light

Breaking from a streetlight through the curtains,

Those hands were such slight weight.