A week of politics is a long time and a week of wanting is more,
we should get medals for being on treadmills,
but all we get is tired.
I liked the way your breath curled in my ears,
that was years ago though.
When I fell they rebuilt me and
in the image reflected by the light
on your wine glass
I guess I’m about sixty, but
that could possibly be wrong.
I miss the dream of you when the nights
flew hot and low on my skin and again in
the mornings with your taste on my lips
A week is a long time
a time to be strong time
and the wine glass is
full for now.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.