Three Sevenlings
Decades have gone passed
since we were young and
walked through Paris streets.
Nude, you walk toward me
whisky in your hand;
the bed sheets crumpled.
I desire you still
Every evening, we
discuss the mundane—
love’s soft ritual.
Your touch lessens fear,
holds me to center,
burns away the fray.
I find peace with you.
I can’t sleep tonight;
you have gone away.
One night is too long.
Even in silence,
I want to be here,
because you are here.
Here we still are.

(February 8, 2017)

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