between the two rivers

eight flights up is where you live, where I visit
in a pink colored building high on a hill
between the two rivers... we walk frequently
hand in hand, though many stop and stare, jealous
of our intimacy, our smiles, our daring...
tonight from windows high over the city
the cold weather's wet haze threatens our comfort
so in the delight of our togetherness
we will light the stone chimney for the first time
on this November's eve, we will fall asleep
on the thick Persian rug by the warming flames
dreaming about tomorrows spent here and there...
in the morning we will drink tea, laugh about
our cramps from sleeping away from the bed's ease -
it has happened thus before, each time we light
autumn's first fire, renewing our happiness...
united again, I find peace eight flights up
coming home to my warm lofty apartment
I lay my head confidently in your arms...



between the two rivers
4 november, 2006
The Lyons Collection
[2006.4.11...e]
(Written in the Hendecasyllabic form (see "The Hendecasyllabic" )
Daily Winner in The Writer's Cramp)