Poem-A-Day: Day 188

Goodnight Air

We spoke briefly of masturbation
before I turned one last time
and walked in the house.
The chill of the night air had started to settle
despite the warmth of the day,
but I trusted that the air wouldn’t lie,
it would keep its promise,
like it always did,
and return to warmth again,
even if it wouldn’t be tomorrow.
The air was always kind that way,
moving freely around;
an omniscient godlike praetor
that I trusted
would not sentence me to death
or loneliness.
The air and I spoke briefly
of hands and forearms
before I turned one last time
and waved to it from a distance.