The Simplest of Acts

Come. Sit with me. Talk a while.
Put away the clocks. Turn off the phones.
Have a cup of coffee. A glass of wine.
Let the world go. It is less important than you imagine.

Far less important. When we lie on our deathbeds,
this is what we will remember, thighs touching thigh,
soft voices. Eye contact,
The intimacy of safety, of surety, sharing

silences and the truths we barely admit
to ourselves as the sun sets behind the quarry.
Come. Sit with me. Love beckons in the simplest
of acts, which are also sometimes,
the hardest.

About this poem.

A love poem. About being present in it. Which, in today’s world becomes harder and harder.

Tom