Six days from now we'll
lose ourselves to each other
all over again.

Or Whatever

It's not just like I'm
Sitting here or anything,
Just waiting for you.

Will it be

Quiet days with books
And tea or awkward silence?
All that we can dream?

Between

A moment of quiet;
A tree stripped of its bark; the
Fall; a cigarette.

Here's to Two Months From Now

We sit and we smile--
Coffee in hand, games and books--
So close to always.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow...

Fonder? No. Harder
in some places and rot soft
others. But it grows.

This Porch is Empty Without You

Two coffee cups here,
where we shared jokes, smokes, and
held off the sharp chill.