Today in the city

Today, in the city,
I read prize-winning poems.

None nearly as nice as your pretty pomes.

but now,
my dearest,
from this train,
on this train trip,

I am reading words
that draw me pictures of our loving,
that drip with our liquids,
and run with our juices.

Words that make me think of you,
each one:
tentacled beasts, and running red wine,
and fragrant nectar breathed into loving nostrils
by broad-cased lungs.

These words that I will carry back to you,
and hope that you will be entertained,
as I am moved.

With love.