Temple of Athena the Savior

Longing writes poetry.

Contentment spends an hour more

In the duvet.

Longing burns and strains.

Contentment snuggles

Asks for little.

Longing relishes the bittersweet

Taste of its own frustration.

Contentment potters about.

Longing speaks with

A scorched, parched tongue.

Contentment doesn’t say much.

If I put my lips

To your skin

There are no words needed.

Couplets for the uncoupled.

Stanzas rather than stains.

Meter in the absence of meeting.

The cool comfort of rhymes.

Longing writes of love.

Contentment gets its kit off.