it is my most frivolous desire
to rip myself away from this life
so that i may
take a train across europe

carrying nothing but
a book of translated kierkegaard essays
two dresses
an antique rosary
and shimmering lip gloss
in my cracked leather satchel

remain in denmark
disappearing
into the mortar maze
of copenhagen

to marvel
photograph the city
write travel poetry

where i will meet a tortured danish man
with smoldering good looks
who owns a book store
plays the cello
and makes stunning sculptures
out of beech wood

we will fall madly
the first time
we lay eyes on each other

he takes me home to his little attic apartment

i will never allow him
to teach me
a single syllable
of his language

i will never know his mother’s name

we will be forced to touch
daily
constantly
to communicate

cook
wash
smile
laugh
play charades
kiss
cry
fuck
memorize fingertips
skin
sighs
press cool wet cloth onto feverish foreheads
to express our love

for the rest of our days

without one word ever to taint it