the feeling of waiting - romantic, uncomfortable, dragging, ugh
Elizabeth, dearest
a Saturday apart, yeah
but a million miles away
and a billion little droplets of water
not to mention the air
which multiplies only to spite me
like so many other
unshakeable ‘facts’
of nature
but I know their true design
but a spirit, lack of refine
and hearts, like blue roses,
serve only to compare
to that feeling before the kiss
of a throat long parched
tasting bitter water at long last
forgetting the past
and imagining that all that time alone
was but a dream, and now
you’ve discovered your lover was merely
stepping out of bed
to bring you wine and a scone
and is now again around your waist
offering her wrist for your lips to taste