Wanderlust

the winter drapes cascade down
like the snow blankets the grass.

his footsteps on the porch
stomping off the snow

the scent of warm soup
heavy on the stove

the sofa awaits by the fire
her mothers blanket ready

two goblets of warm wine
a plate of tea biscuits

Frost on the table,
Rachmaninoff fills the room

this is the evening wanderlust
as shadows fall through the window

the front door opens

she welcomes him in

no warm day could soothe them more
no wintry breath could draw them closer

their shoes side by side by the doorway
the arms of their jackets entangled on the floor