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