Late Winter

Sitting

in a comfortable chair
on the third floor of the Whitney center.

Chunks

of ice packed snow slip off the
Basilica’s dome — gradually picking
up speed then crash into the roof
of the sanctuary.

Oaks

in Loring park are weighted
— heavy with last night’s snow.
Last night my

lover

opened the window
— much too early in February—
before we slept.
The

“glow”

kept me warm under the intoxicating smell of sex.

 

 

 

One Reply to “Late Winter”

Comments are closed.