The evening adjusts the hem
of her smooth rose wine
stole. You and I move
to the back porch. The sky
flushes to allure us with its
pink. But work and all that
went wrong with it take their
toll.

Bird wings hustle. Soon it will
be dark. We’ll pick up our
half-sipped glasses of
wine. When the day’s fatigue,
its taunts, its grime start
sinking us, the evening’s
blush will still leave its
mark.