The Night Cap

Sunlight meanders in and floods

the linen tablecloth in bars.

“Belonged to Grandmother,” you say,

“and will be yours, some fateful day.”

~

I sip my wine — cascades in rings.

A thousand minutes pass, and sting

before you draw a sigh — a gasp?

I reach out again for my glass.

~

A napkin, soft within my grasp,

idly crinkled upon my lap.

The dog whines softly in her nap —

she’s nipping at the heels of calves.

~

Blush sunset stretches out for miles

and pleads with us to come outside.

I breathe it like a fever dream,

to join its cult and make me clean.

~

Now you are lounging on the couch;

feet hold pillows — submissive spouse.

There is no man who rules this house,

just one who scurries, in and out.

~

We pour another glass of wine.

“Try my fine grappa — tastes divine.”

Pleasures past — a liquid spine.

A pair of bookends captures time.

~

We clink our glasses like a rhyme.

It shimmers on the tongue — sublime.

My eyes tread water, cede a tide;

I’m looking for a place to hide.

~

A hidden portrait from the deep —

the sunset turning now to sheep.

And in my slumber, curtains weep;

they fall upon me in a heap.

~

A fit of nurses. Bridge to dreams.

The old guard stalks my kingdom keep.

And with your lullaby that creeps,

my walls fall down — I’m fast asleep.