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Tonight
by
James S. Wilk
Again I'm wistful
as I hear the
rain tonight:
a quiet, lonely
sound, like a
distant train
at night.
I pray the pitter-patter
serves as lullaby,
soothing, that
I might dream
of you again tonight.
In dreams we talk.
You tell a tale,
in turn I laugh,
content in dear
Scheherazade's
domain tonight.
In dreams we walk,
our fingers intertwined
like souls,
the fleeting moments
easing lonesome
pain at night.
You stare into
my eyes; our noses
touch, lips part.
Your kiss is redolent
of sweet champagne
tonight.
Your skin is smooth
and salty; we
merge head and
loins
as Kekule observed
the snakes in
chain at night.
Your Giacomo takes
care to memorize
such dreams,
for when he wakes,
he'll reach for
you in vain tonight.
©
2008 by James
S. Wilk
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About the Author
James
Wilk, M.D.
is a physician
in Denver, Colorado
specializing in
medical disorders
complicating pregnancy.
His poems have
appeared in Measure,
The Sow's Ear,
The Salt Flats
Annual, Barefoot
Muse and others.
His chapbook,
Shoulders, Fibs,
and Lies is available
through Pudding
House Press: www.puddinghouse.com
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