Musings #38


What shall we do, my dear old love,

with nothing to distract us from each other?

Suddenly shy, no, frightened – not by the dark,

but by an intimacy we’re unaccustomed to.

I imagine we watch the fire spark and flame,

candles flicker in the draft,

sip from a bottle of leftover wine.

And as the otherwise dark enfolds us –

we enfold each other,

our murmurings lapse into silence.

We tire, not from ennui,

but this intensity.

How strange how strange the so-familiar

has become.