There’s a man at a desk, clears it at five, imagines the after-work nest.
There’s a man at the rail, nods with a sigh, sends over a drink for the lady.
So many are waiting, inhaling the chance to breathe air with another,
to roll over and see someone in the light of the morning,
to reach toward,
to tenderly touch the bone of her chin, the line of her nose,
to know if she is what he calls his
to see if she feels like a tomorrow under his steady gaze.
Settle in darling, he says, his elbow anchors her hip, his arm climbs her frame with wrist securely tucked in soothing fashion to hold her in the fold of his protective wing.