Sonnet in France

I’d a thought you were some sort of lost thing,

by the porch light’s mind lit up in your eye,

when they looked at me — told me everything.

Never known your kind til we met that night.

In your eyes I’ll always recognize you.

A thing too young to have a soul too old.

Brace the weight of it all til your back turns blue,

give your coat away. Let yourself be cold.

So i’ll spend my day making you a cake!

Anxious guessing which type of cake you like.

Leave the frosting off whatever I make,

all I knew then was what you didn’t like.

You’ll say, “thank you”, as you watch me eat it.

I’ll say, “of course”, not convinced you mean it.