she asks you to dance,
taking your hand
to move around the room.
from the white
speakers in the ceiling
a garbled Sinatra
dribbles out over plates
of spaghetti and glasses
of red wine.
slowly you move between
the tables,
inching your way
past waiters carrying
garden salads
and bread sticks.
you realize that she
is completely out of
her mind as she rests
her head on your shoulder
and calls you by
an unknown name.
you wonder
what hers is,
as the cashier
snaps his fingers to
tell you that your
order is ready.
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