Sweet and Low

His body – comforting
as I climb in, between
the sheets, warm my feet
on his back, lulled
by its rise and fall.

It’s cold out tonight –
the road from the airport
quite dicey – skidded twice;
crap that I am, driving on ice.

He twitches, ever so slightly –
must be dreaming; about her,
I can only surmise.

Can’t help but wonder
what she’s called, what
she looks like – she
who has stolen his heart...

the one who left
the moment I arrived;
made those footprints
in the snow…

and the tell-tale sign
of the cat-flap, swinging
as I pulled into the drive.

“I guess I’ll never know,
will I, Eddie?” but
I talk to myself
as he only purrs, sweet
and low.