Whisper I love you, that little dream I dreamed of you, the cat purring, the eggs poaching, the lust arching over an ordinary conversation, the dollop of cream, the whispering cloud of wish, the daylight scatter of toast and laundry.
I hear a sigh every year just before the frost comes, the first night when there is an inkling that sheets will want to be warmed before we slip between them. A spatter of rain drops on the windshield, fog rises inside the warm car, lights halo on the shining street.
The silence of evening settles when the motor is turned off; sitting in the front seat, shadows sidle anonymous, transient, drawn one breath away. Mystery hangs on hesitant leaves. Reaching, we touch them as they fall, red/gold, into the dark street. Exhale.
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