aimee
nervous fingers entangled,
smell of sinaia fresh,
and your argument echoing
"nothing could explain mi-e dor de tine",
and my gestures aloof

aimee
the launch crowded and noisy,
book you gave me untouched,
i remember the guitar player
and the old rag we ignored by-
the smelly street corner,
and the lovers who were making up

aimee
the martisor pinned on my jacket,
and the night we fought,
and the way I melted in the dark night,
and the way night has grown warmer
within our tight embrace

aimee
the wooden church at brasov,
and my drenched jeans bottom
your giggles and my embarrassment,
and the cigarette smoke through your nostrils

aimee
the argument was meaningless
the missing I feel
is far above your mi-e dor de tine
I miss you...