Aphrodite

She stops shivering,
After wrapping herself in the burgundy shawl,
And stands in the kitchen entrance,
A rare occasion indeed,
Such things do not happen to me often on earth,
The only red wine is uncorked,
For we are sad tonight,
But linked,
Her in my arms on the faded green couch,
The glasses do not clink,
Aphrodite has come to spend the night,
In my fourth floor apartment,
Asleep in my arms,
The bottle lies half-empty,
On the kitchen counter,
I am reading the Divine Comedy,
And thinking of friends,
Laying my hand gently on her hair,
Fingertips barely touching the surface,
Why are we given what we are?
It is well into the morning,
The bottle lies half-empty,
Not even a hair remains on the shawl,
Nothing of her ever having been,
But an empty glass,
And a big heart,
That leaves the door unlocked,
In hope of everything,
And in the light of it being November,
Warm rooms sound nicer.