Ergo, the Ogre

Three martinis in:

Night breeze whispers

your name and

I can almost feel you —

swear I sense your presence —

almost feel your caress,

taste your lush, greedy lips

as they brush mine.

Almost.

Almost.

I inhale deep

deeper

and try to trying savor

the scent of you.

A lung-full of sweet balmy air,

a heron cries

and the spell is broken.

Except!

If I squint

up at the stars

just right

they twinkle your name.

Almost.