Meet me on the streets of Babylon.

In Memphis (Egyptian).

Or at that little cafe on the corner of

Asgard and Ys,

The one where they put mint in your tea

So you can taste it on the steam

While you look out the window

And wait for it to snow.

I do believe we lived there, once.

In a narrow bed with ancient sheets,

Just long enough for both of us,

Just wide enough for two.

And still we crossed it in the dark:

Like ships, like mail, like the blind—

Each encased in lack of light—

And always forgot to leave a note.

Meet me on the streets of Babylon,

And I promise you I will be there.

You'll recognize me

(I think)

But I'll bring a book to be sure.

I'll take this one from the side of my bed

And hold it open between my palms,

And hope you remember the way it smells.