There she read aloud:
“I long for a woman’s love,
and to give a woman love like wine rushing into the sea.’
“To pledge a flower to her heart;
to whisper the poetic love into her mouth.
I want to wake her with a kiss,
lend my hands to conceive her bliss,
and clasp her hips as if she were the basin that carries my breath.’
“I’d become hollow from all I give,
my chest swelled from her rushing smile.’
“Her gentle voice filling me to overflow,
only driving my desire to empty again, giving her the moon on a string.’
“I yearn to hold her through the stars,
to rest among her breasts and let her sighs sink into my skin.’
“To part the rain, and pull the clouds from out the sky.
—To stun her with magic!
and hear her gasp as I unfurl a galaxy from out my hands.
To hear her gasp as I unravel the empyrean from out our bed.’
“I say, let her body fall against mine—let her heart fall into mine.
Let me set fire to her mind; all I yearn lies there between her ears.’
“Let her fears and follies fade unto lips that keep her safe:
the same lips that keep her lusted,
that keep her flushed from touch.
The same lips that speak their love for her forever,
and not just until she tires and wears from time.’
“For I believe a woman deserves nothing less then a fantasy,
and should never have to settle for a lover
who is anything less then romantic;
anything less, I should say, than John Donne’s ecstasy.”
And on the bottom there she read aloud:
With Love, from some forgotten Casanova
And from the note upon it was found,
and from the book it had laid resting in,
she placed the book back on the shelf
and left the store with a prayer in her heart.
Praying someone else would stumble upon Casanova.
For the lilies she had passed many times without a second look,
appeared more beautiful then she had ever seen them.
All the rest of the day,
she thought of nothing but flowers.