Dinner at the Black Cat

we were worried about what to wear.
he strolled in a grey zip down sweatshirt and a black turtle neck.
we relaxed into it, me in a wool skirt and a cashmere sweater,
S in a clean shirt, that was the big accomplishment.
we were seating in a black sofa, we were all so
black,
to match the name of the restaurant.
black until white, until red
wine, and indescribable
names of one white plate after another
and talk of books and love and
and
until
he had to get ready to take a plane
we had to go home
and collapse
so good.