On Prufrock

To EM


Cigar smoke drifts about me,
Pleasant.
Unpainted wood scratches my toes,
Restful.
The sun threatens to set,
An interruption of red
Neither of us wants.

Poetry comes my way,
Narratives fly yours.
Home waits across
Miles of barriers,
Distance trumped by our persistence.

Connected by loss,
By love’s mossy methods,
We share a glass of wine.
Hope lightens our moods,
Before we return to slip beneath
Perfectly laid linens.