She was ice – the pure logic that spread over the surface of Truth.
He was a heartbeat – a rhythm seeking syncopation.
He breathed the scent of jasmine
And opened his arms to receive the hummingbird
Hovering over them.
She tolerated his irrational moment of interruption
When he stopped to marvel at how
The evening’s light deepened the purple of the jacarandas
Against the darkened sky.
She would never entwine her limbs with his.
A corpus callosum separated them.
“In his younger days”
He would have used wine to soften her edges,
But now he sipped whiskey to console his untouched parts

And went to bed early.