A warm, soft rise and fall
Long, grey plumes rise
from the chimneys
towards the darker canvas
of this early winter night
and the red triangle lights
of a descending plane
break through the cover of
snow-filled clouds.
Behind me, here
in this fourth floor room,
more present than the world,
more imminent than time,
the warm, soft rise and fall
of your half-covered breasts,
the slow sea murmur of your breath
calling me home again.