Seven Dates with a Time Traveler

My first date is her third-
a limbic scan, she tells me,
shows that sex will be her pleasure
as well as mine-and how impressed she is
with my subcortical readings
from her temporal dates one and two.
And praising my choice of movies, she says,
"We spiked in all the right places."

On date two (her seventh), she claims that
temporally she won't see me anymore,
something about our relationship going backward.
Still, she is as limbically limber as the last time.

My three is her one.
"I feel you know me so well," she whispers
as I brush aside dark strands of hair from her aqua eyes.
She thanks me for dinner with a light kiss
before she radiates into the night.

For four, we rendezvous outside Cinema Sixty-Five
for her perfect second date-
she chooses an NC-17 Czech flick
because it is "so romantic,"
but whisks away before the climatic scene.

My fifth is four for her
and she snuggles against my chest
as we walk or lie in bed.
She almost says she loves me
before she disappears under the covers.

It is six for me and half a dozen for her,
when she appears in my bedroom.
"No need to go out," she says, but seems
distracted as her garments fall.
"I do like you," she murmurs later
as she reaches the door.

On my last and seventh date (her fifth),
we ride around the lake in a carriage.
As we feed the ducks, she mentions
"the ancient ritual of marriage."
At midnight, I wait a second too long
to tell my love before she leaps
under the silent waves of forever.