The Stoking

When you promised me music

I knew the evening would not end

With me perched on the sofa

And a screen my best friend

Torn between soaring along

The notes you send

And the ancient protocol

I defend

Leaping reflexively

As you walk across the foyer

Heels beating the tattoo of me

Lowered eyes dancing suggestively

The look, direct, an invite

Seeking nothing but the tide

There will be time,

To explore, to watch, to be

There will be a time

When it is just you and me

Then we will see..

The passion that must not be tried

The frisson that will not subside

The embers stoked selectively

As the music died

A chance it might have been

Elided with practiced ease

The memory of the longing

Just a (minor) scar

That leaves the door ajar

Lazy quiffed curling smoke

Rising unbidden, to snide

What might have been…

Possibility, turned to pride

Its time denied.

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