her right eye was blue
her left eye was green
she wore Loose Slacks And All Stars
she wore her hair long and wavy
and when she walked
through the hallway
of that Victorian house
I felt the sunlight into my face
in a cold winter day.

are you Italian? she said
no, I said
are you French? she said.
I nodded and a no.
we looked at our eyes.
I’m me,I said.

she tilted her head and held my eyes.

nice to meet you… you, she said.
and you… where are you from, I said.
I’m from Buenos Aires, she said.

I pictured it on the map.

pleasant to meet you, too, I said
and saw us lying naked in my bed.
her blue eye smiled
her green eye winked
at me.

and in the coming days
we sat Buddha style
and drank Japanese tea
and talked about
noodles and chopsticks
and talked about the film Shame
and I told her that Chet Baker was the best
horn player in the world.

and no long after that
we took long night walks
in streets where thick fog lay low
in streets where post lamps glowed
where fat cats sat in windows sills
where chimneys smoked in long
steady streaks.

we had dinners
we read books
we watched movies
we sang songs
we had drinks and swings
and laughed out loud
at our goofing about
at the blue round world.

and now we’re lying in my bed naked
feeling the warmth of our bodies
and reading the poem about
the girl with
the blue and green eye.

That’s me! she said and smiled.
Nice to meet you… you, I said.
She kissed me.