The Night, The Smoke, and The Tawny Portbygreenmountaineer©
There was a time when she and I
Drank our wine, danced naked there,
And hop-scotched kitchen tiles.
The kitchen air, spicy once,
That stirred our bodies fluid,
Fumes from chain-smoked cigarettes
And dinners long since ruined.
She in her kitchen, I in my den,
Light up again at one a.m.,
One with our tawny ports.