Snow Drift

Miles plays an offering to the gods
My thoughts drift to him
While I wait for snow

Last time our bodies curled together
Arm hung over waist
Back pressed against chest

He read Anne Sexton over my shoulder
I listened to her words on his breath
With eyes closed

I imagine him at the small desk
Curled over in concentration
More edits to chapter one

I sit at the dining room table
Surrounded by stacks and stacks
Bills to be paid, papers to be filed

He sends a message
Once he reaches a good place
The precise moment my life feels in order

I want him to come over
But Miles has already begun
To work his magic