Remember standing in the window
of your bedroom, looking at the sunset?
I do. I always loved the picture the sun made
as we stood in your living room, watching
as it sank below the tree-topped hills
rolling into the distance past your house.
So you pulled me up the stairs
because you said the view was better
there. I pressed my nose against the glass
and wished to slow the rays of color fading
into dusk, wished to lean back and rest
in your warm arms, wished to fall
back in your bed where I belonged.
–Just something I’m working on. Not there yet, but something.