Inflection

Inflection
by, Frank Lambert

I don’t know where it is you’ve taken me
other than how I feel.

Cocooned inside your apartment
I never want to leave.

I write you often, as we listen
to shades of music,

watch obscure movies
and eat only what can be delivered.

I don’t think I’ll ever tire of bathing
with you each day,

as we drink pinot noir after pinot noir
and explore every minute detail.

You’re sleeping once more, but I find it impossible
so I write you again

in-between watching your naked rise
and fall.

These words, I’m not sure you’ll ever see,
when you awaken - soon,

I’ve got to feel your lips pressed against
my shoulder another time

as I breathe in the scent of your hair
and abandon everything but you.