Altering Course to Port
We place confessions in glass bottles
About being left of center. Meanwhile
Port side adds the desert to our view.
Our horizon is uncorked, we spill out
Forcefully and feel insignificant.
Home is there! You ring some bells.
Later, when it is 115 degrees
And you're mowing a guilty lawn,
I'll try hard not to nag you about the edging.
(Attention to detail makes a difference though.)
The hairs on your chest turn silver
My freckles seem to be melting.
I love your laughter when I say
Don't forget to wear a hat.
The way you adore the hell out of this heat,
How we conduct a slow orbit in familiar space.
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