On A Back Porch

She stares comfortably at her wine.
She smells of cloves and fresh thyme.
She mouths the words and sings a perfect harmony.
I notice how the screen door’s whine
In a breeze that seems to slow the time
Brings motion to an otherwise still balcony.

Rising storm smells tickle my nose.
Clouds lit up like soldiers in sky rows.
As we settle under our blanket of swaying conifers.
Our nightly watch protector knows
How drawn I am to a wine of rose
And she, who deftly swirls one in her fingers.

By day, I long for another session
Where music and my love can lessen
The fondness grown in my heart through absence.
Sleeping sound’s a willing cession
For what we learn from nature’s lesson
And sonatas sprung from a late-night summer’s stridence.

The radio plays guitar and cymbals
Energy trapped inside a hymnal.
A stranger tries to sing “I love you’s” for us
But swirling fingers have such symbols
That make his voice, his words, and him null
As WE are the writers of our living, love-song chorus.