his bare grip strong
encompasses my gloved fingers
his own recent history
the constellations of our
midnight promenade
sleet storms although tepid
freeze my toes
beer bellies although full
crave something homemade
at home
in home
our home
we glide east sharply south
always a direct route
home
because us
over puddles turned ocean
“we walk so well together”
and yet
and so
we sail still
holding hands
always so very us
good morning untitled
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as