Three Days Alone

Three days alone
back to my home
and a chance to write with you.

Morning brew
corn muffin too
and a leisurely start to the day.

Streets below
beckon us so
we're energized by the pulse of it all.

Fresh food at the corner shop
we climb the stairs to the top
and cook a meal for two.

Wine and conversation flow
Dancing under the moonlight glow
skin touching, tender and tentative.

A warm fire cuts the chill;
light rain hits the window sill;
laughter of stories yearning to be told.

You read in an easy chair.
I shuffle through papers, and long to be there.
Your sigh, a moan that woos.

I lift a pen
it's why I've come back again
to get it out in ink.

You gaze at me, and I at you
we look away, us childish two.
Your lips they purse in wonder.

Do I rise to my feet
and cross the room for us to meet
and kiss those lips completely?

Or instead,
do I clear my throat and then my head
and stack my papers neatly?

Two rooms with doors, we both make note
as wee hours appear between passages wrote
and we awkwardly talk about it.

Do we share a room, and the covers.
Do we cross the line to be lovers
or are dreams just to be written?

We both have charms
that sound alarms
and both, a wee bit smitten.

Do thoughts prevail, passions kept in check?
Loosing focus as my fingertips run along your neck.
Perhaps it's time to sleep.

Three days alone
back at home
and a pen has barely been uncapped.