The rush of wind that stops
at the glass door. Three candles.
A pack of cards.
Seven quarters scattered
about the floor. Two half-empty
bottles of Merlot. A couch.
Three chairs. Lovers curled
together, asleep. Stone hearth.
A bowl of pears.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.
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