Conservation
by Ruth Farr
The platinum compartment in my temporal lobe
holds dear the pleasure of that first evening,
your broad shoulders sauntered into the narrow hall,
with no stop-to-knock hesitation to forestall
the adrenalin rush of the gymnastic kiss that leapt
from the keepsake corner of my wide-eyed smile
to ambush your ever-wary rhinoceros hide.
Its triple somersault vault from my beaming face
to your laughing lips was spectacularly surprising.
While I warmed the Merlot you headed for the sofa,
slipped off your shoes and scrolled through channels,
oblivious to the climactic shift in my happiness.