Writing Research

She likes to write
flowing prose
while wearing little
or no clothes,
In her upstairs
writing space
usually a smile
on her face,

The room small
crammed with books
about heroes
and crooks,
About events
long ago
and where the future
might go,

We met one night
at a writing course
she made me curious
of course,
The way she wrote
the way she looked
too easy for me
to get hooked,

Strangers for
a week or two
then decided
I might do,
For a drink
perhaps a date
which we did
and it got late,

Well past midnight
walking back
to my cabin
to my shack,
The other side
of the tracks
where freight trains
click and clack,

We didn’t need
another drink
didn’t need
to overthink,
Future plans
or past events
each of our
own intents,

So we made love
windows open
each, perhaps
in secret hoping,
For something new
and refreshing
void of doubt
and second guessing,

Later from
her writing room
we conversed
over Zoom,
She asked me how
I had been
if we would ever
meet, again,

Naked there
among her books
about heroes
and crooks,
I told her I
did not know
but if she wished
I could go,

To someplace
anytime
where we could
again climb,
Up to where
the views are great
great writing research
just pick a date,