Sunlight saturates jonquils and lobelia
in your yard, people sit in lounge
chairs or rockers cupping caudles.
It’s sterile here and my sandals
slide on the tiled floor as the
air conditioner wisps alertness.
I enter your room,
it’s always similar —
you, perfectly manicured
Our conversations alight
intrigue, shared stories,
tea and time.
My days jounce sadly if I forget
these jonquils, lobelia and sunlit temples.