They handed me a pamphlet

that promised all the secrets

of the world.

It was six pages

front to back

and as big as two matchbooks

glued together.

They said six pages was

enough to tell the story.

I read every other word

There was no mention of

the curve of her hips or

vanilla ice cream on a slice

of blueberry pie or

picking apples redder than

her face after wine

and a kiss.

I didn't make it to the

prayer at the end.

I crumpled it up.

It landed in the garbage,

atop the picture of the woman

with her breasts out and

the expired coupons.