to the one,
the sylphic dance motes hung in quiet lair,
stars flensed from midnight-sky above our patch of home,
the chatoyant sun splashing over breakfast.
the redolence of coffee as we bask in its secret lore,
these pallid bones heaped from swell Spring turning,
our sudor swathed in petrichoric embrace.
the cardinal kiss announcing my ardour afresh,
the gentle music collected from hands poised in writing,
the cursive smoke gliding along the hall.
these moments for eons.
these particles for us.
this long echo of flesh.