Amber and I worshiped
each other’s hills
and ridges under the rosy
Sheridan hotel sign light
that came in her apt. window
KC nights. She lived
in Poet’s Corner, and I brought
her sonnets, verse –
and she cooked us chalky chicken
and poured white wine
into gold-rimmed glasses,
which we took great care
not to spill on her white white carpet
even when, on the floor,
we pushed the plates and table
away.

– Kevin Rabas

editors note: When decorum permits the sacrifice of decor. – mh clay