A Poem for my (Lover)

On these cold winter nights & days –

my pen scratching at the page,

madly recording my ideas & imagination –

I replay our passion in a poem.

I write for you.

Light the fire in the hearth

with your hands & heat the cottage,

just as your hands bring out the

heat within me.

Long mornings in your bed

make the weekend at your cottage

extend into a blizzard of passion.

I am gripped in your arms

& tangled in your sheets.

You ignite insurmountable pleasure

as gusts of wind chill the air,

& I layer you on top of me

as you stoke my internal fire.

We drift off to sleep; your bed holds us

& our dreams become a bridge of time

until we awake to the delight of the next blizzard.

We arise in the early evening –

escaping from your bedroom after being

held hostage to passion –

like two prisoners shown an open door,

we are unsure if we really want to leave

to tend the simmering soup on the stove.

(Although we are certain that we will return

to the heap of pillows & blankets later.)

Spoon with me after soup.

Eat with me after love.

Drink with me the wine I have brought

& lick your glass as if it were me.

Add fuel to the fire –

it’s going to be a long evening inside.