The Slow Dance

He tells me a story about his wife
and their favorite song, how over
the years of marriage they’re still in love.
Under my mask, I smile at the idea.

Whenever it comes on the radio
we always slow dance, he tells me.
A soft look of remembering
flutters across his face.

One time while driving to Georgia,
in the middle of the night, “Unchained Melody”
came on the radio. The kids were asleep
in the back seat and we pulled over to the side
of the highway and danced in front of the headlights.

I stayed busy in his hospital room to keep
from letting the tears spill over thinking
about how we could all spend a lifetime
looking for a love so sweet.

An Open Window

Summer hangs on with clenched teeth,
the last of the night bugs and frogs
fill the air like white noise.

The moon nearly full and pulling me away
from dreaming, away from letting
the world dissolve around me.

My body is hot electricity, waiting
to be grounded by the firmness
of your touch and kissed by
delicate whispers against the grain.