First Sonnet

It is a comfortable strangeness as
We sit at night, absorbing music and
Exchanging dreams. Each evening passing has
A welcome ease I do not understand.

You read a poem; I quote a play. You taste
A nut; I sip my tea. And nothing gets
Accomplished, and I sometimes think I waste
My time, and yet I never have regrets.

Such private moments shared without design
Are nothing more and nothing less than fine.

© Douglas Allchin