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An Inch and a Smidge

The love letter comes,

A poem written in request,

Write me a poem, beguilingly

she asks.

She wants to be there

in the mind of her 

lover, rhyming in rhythm,

the cadence of love, on his

tongue, on his cortex.

It’s short and it’s sweet

of the earth-bound roots

of a woman's soul, and 

her mountains 

that he climbed, and sighed.

But,

she thinks, a thought,

wants a little bit more, What

won’t he say. What

is it she won’t see,

in that inch and a smidge

beyond

the last line.