A January evening

I’m fond of lists:
checked boxes
and crossed out actions.
I like scented candles and jazz
                    – with no vocals,
                sometimes, you must serenade yourself.
I like eggs in all forms, except boiled,
            peanut butter – crunchy.
I like writing, mine and others,
it’s all part of us occupying the universe
one jot at a time.
Silence is not the blank page, it’s the pen raised.
I got distracted by the moon last night, it was icy
and the clouds had shivered away,
the moon though, the moon,
she hung low, exposed
like the V above supple bosoms
and she smiled, I swear
she smiled as I drove by.