As I sit here on the stoop
Contemplating the facets of your being, your response
I can’t help but muse back to the days
When we shared a life between those
Off-white walls
That old clapboard house
That smelt of coffee grounds and freezer-burned turkey
Housed a solace within us
That levitates above my work-worn pince-nez with
The crooked collar
You see, in that place
Upon that four poster bed
That horse-hair mattress hard and intractable
As I drew lines across your chest
Ruminating what to have after wine and cake
I wondered, secretly the stories
Of birth, innocence, love, death
That these silent slates of lacquered wan
Have heard over endless ages, these
Off-white walls
Upon the settee, numerous times
How I tried to hear their messages
Long faded and flecked with
Tobacco tar, and sighs, and tears of infants
I asked in the quietude
Of blue carpet and the yellowed wood of
The old ricolla
To grant me the message-keeping you near forever
As time is passed here, with you, between, these
Off-white walls