Long on promises, she moves closer,
a slow seductive dance lightly touching,
barely brushing the roof before she leaves
in the dark. I am too old to chase
blindly, and wait instead for words
to fall upon the page when she returns—
or not. I believe she means business.
How she loves to tease the be-Jesus
right out of me. It makes her feel good
too see me uncomfortable, vulnerable
to her every gesture, the stormy look
of these hills wrapped in gray gossamer
dawn waits to unfold at first light
if I’m lucky—if I’m patient enough
to let her have her way with me.