Love Poem No.13

By John Blase | November 21, 2013 |

You’d been gone just three days.

I missed the sound of your voice

in our house, your body’s shape

in our bed, the stacks of your stuff

on our shared sink.

As I drove to the airport to fetch

you back home where you belong

the radio played the best of Jerome Kern

as that full fall moon squatted the horizon,

rising slow, nice and easy

like Kern’s The Folks Who Live on the Hill.

Several times I caught myself

driving driven, just shy of hellbent,

so we could be man and wife again,

just we two.