I never felt your
affection
until I left you for weeks.
I never knew all that you did for me
until I had to do it myself.

Intricate black iron fences,
chained in from turbulent ambulation
below.
Streetcar bells,
dim drunken singers pavement level.
Room for two,
crystal cut wine glasses filled
to the brim, Merlot hospitality.
Our faces illuminated by warm orange
from lighters and city glow.
Your rosy hands,
bitten by the cold and
connect the dots between my knuckles.
He speaks in sapphire symphonies,
grins with ash stained lips.
Only rays of violet radiate between
two charcoal smeared thumb prints.