Tonight

So, this is a winter night, past

the witching hour, I am sitting here, somewhat

drunk;  my hands are moving, not always

where I command them to, they seek out your

form in the night, my fingers rustle on the air, or

the dimple of your smile. The wind that blows

in my hair is probably your breath.

This night, I hold you close,

run, again, my fingers through your hair, and

breathe your presence, tonight, I will

just accept that you are around me, and my

senses will absorb you, much like if

we were making love, I embrace you, and feel

all the contours of your body, I feel your voice

rather than hear it. Tonight, I just let it go, hoping…

It is long, since we hoped. Long, since

we spent a humid afternoon, listening;

since we actually heard the clumsy noises we made when

we drank our coffee, that uneasy rattle of spoon against cup, that

disdain for saucers. Those sugarcubes, lying unrequited,

and the bitter coffee, tasting just like our love. Tonight,

we will have all of it. Tonight, we will have…