Longing

by Steve Evans

My mouth is full of the aftertaste

of chocolate,

of red wine’s soothing soliloquies,

and many other promises,

but all they really speak about is you.

I’m not feeling guilty, though.

What am I to do when you aren’t here

except eat more chocolate

and pour more wine?

You could appear and close the box,

recork the bottle

and offer me your own sweet tastes

but you’re so far away.

We both know that won’t happen.

Shall I grow fat on the absence of you,

sing hopelessly drunk songs of abstinence?

I resort to these lines of longing instead

as if they could conjure the moment when

you open that door and stand before me.

Be soon.

Soon.