By |

if I’d had the legs,

I would run to you

and never once falter

in my stride.

*

had I wings to span the heavens,

I would fly across oceans

and over every mountain

just to hover above

the very hairs on your head.

*

every breath, every good thought —

were I to mechanize

the ferocity of my heart —

I’d pour it out, every last bit of it

over the sundry sands of an eternity,

so I might love you again

just one more time.

By |

paired up at 71 degrees —

this morning’s uber early

temperature & dew point —

means the smart bet today

would be to remain indoors

By |

Christmas came today —

a slew of boxes

*

packaged in swirls

of brown-paper ribbons

*

to cushion uneven, bumpy roads

a trove of poetry

*

joyful new images,

all mine for the taking

By |

Photo by Mauro Lima on Unsplash

You smoke the chops.

I nuke the broccoli

set the patio table

thankful for the gray-cloud respite,

tardy break from late-summer heat.

*

You make a face

when I sip my merlot

after rescuing a wayward fly

from the brink of napa’s plump tannins,

its claret-smooth glide.

*

We plot vacation options

ponder post-retirement timelines

laugh as puppy patrols

the perimeter path

along our black wrought iron fence.

*

You close up shop,

turn off the propane.

We debate the story arc

of Mindhunter on Netflix

we’re eager to resume.

*

We call for Coco,

I crank down the umbrella.

Dusk at this hour, still several weeks away.

You grab the peppermill.

Tummies full, we head back inside.