Unmapped territory

Mornings unchipped

Ribbon askew

Imperial tree

Counting off leaves:

Me, you, us, them.

Monochrome promises,

Floating over the window sill,

Into the maiden light.

Summer friends,

Winter friends

Affectionless between seasons

A glass of Porto 

Adorning defty wrists,

And glittering against 

Black-currant comforts.

Still, they could find 

A pleasing remoteness in each other.

And she will no longer

Feel like apologising

And he will have melted

Her defences midair,

Sighing doubt into carelessness.