Swiveling in my chair;
chivalry’s not so fair
when you aren’t here
to compare

the ducks in the pond,
where we used to ponder
temperatures on the other side,
and wonder

how much bread we needed,
and where they went in the winter
when wind was thick with frost;
how bitter

life seems now in my lazy chair,
lonesome feet limp on the ground,
with thoughts of your touch
spinning ‘round

my mind; consuming my time,
memories like scrapbooks
flipping from front to back,
with looks

that excite me years later,
as I dwell in my little chair
and you sleep under covers
we share

two thousand miles
away.