Cursor blinking on the page
unfinished labor of money, not love
while lost in a moment of Coltrane
always back to those honeymoon days
where it was cool and rainy outside,
cool and warm inside, barefoot in blankets and books
philosophical political purposeful conversations,
nights filled with red wine, the soft twinkle of
patio lights surrounded by passionate minds and
laughter, the burning of more than just candles
between us. Another time before children,
before the fast-forward of life and cymbals
banging, before beds were strictly for sleeping,
before bright lights. Maybe it was only a moment
or something we saw in a movie once.
Lost in the lazy piano and hot-blooded
trumpet, I can see those artist hands
of yours against my white arm
resting on the slow breaths of your chest.
Music drawn to a sad close,
I hear it– flashing cursor, pinging email,
stacks of paper.
But this day; this life,
was meant for so much more.