

It'll Last LongerAmy sat down. The vinyl bench made rude noises in protest as she scooted into the booth. She unbuttoned her overcoat and shrugged out of it, piling it onto the seat beside her. Sleet pelted against the window. Tiny rivulets of condensation ran down the pane, catching the light. She wished she'd brought her macro lens--she probably could've caught some very good reflections in the larger droplets. It made her think of a trip she and Michael had once taken to the shore. She'd left her camera in the hotel and regretted it when she saw the sky that perfect shaIt'll Last Longer


una notte senza suonoThe city sleepsuna notte senza suono
like you tonight;
without me.
In the pronounced absence
of your rhythmic breath
I hear faintly the hiss
of steam escaping concrete.
If I listen hard enough
perhaps I can detect the rumble
of lumbering lonesome highway trucks
or the coyote cry of the night-train's whistle.
But all is silent.
It seems all the world
is as far from me as you.
Nestled in the starc


Extra Virginun pranzo senza vino e come un giorno senza soleExtra Virgin
Tongues made clumsy from years of speaking so guttural a language
are made clumsier still from glass after glass
of Sangiovese.
Un pranzo... ...una pranza? Pranzo. We fall into laughter and pour another glass.
I wonder if you are as impressed as you seem to be by my command of a few words of a language that neither of us really speak. I believe that you are
when you look at me as if I were sent by the gods themselves when I tell you, in Italiano, that tonight your eyes a
--
~H
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