ABLOOM by James Goertel at Friday Poetry
Her breath perfumed with pomegranate,
mine a mix of nicotine, rum, and regret.
We make the most of our reluctance
and the thunder’s reminder of summer;
construct islands from chosen isolation,
the warm rain of selective memory,
and what we have forgiven one another.
We lie side by side by night, both asleep,
awaken to find the sun, our tired smiles.
Her breathing, my sigh perfume the air
of a bedroom abloom with sweet relief.