The Rendezvou

I am but a sip of wine
lingering smoke past midnight,
drink to my memory and smoke
away every tear I shed for you.

Be alone in your comforting solitude
admiring the purity of my shadow,
but a stranger to the soul that made
the woman; the one you slept with
when the full moon cried sonnets.

I have a name, but upon that night
my fallen heart fell drunk before you,
vulnerable to poetic words you will
never write.

The echos of shame linger crossed curtains
you will never unveil, for in darkness is where
the dweller likes to hide.

I finished the poem we started to write,
finalizing the last stanza with truth,
will you remain hidden under those
cold, barren blankets?

Or have coffee with me in the morning?

If so, maybe I'll share my name with you.