Three Steps
Image Source: Tracy Stoops – peeeple.com
Your stoop was short
three steps from
street to door
shortening the distance
to you
The buzzer always died
third ring
then the door would wheeze open
and my pulse would race
Cooking smells in the foyer
black and white mosaic tiles
junk mail piling up on the floor
Up three flights
to the open door of 3F
where you always stood
waiting to welcome me
home
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brian westbye 
Such a powerful. evocative piece.
Aw, thanks! Great to see you!
Your poem caused me to smell cooking and feel the warmth of the apartment and loved one.
Man, I’m so glad to read this. Thank you so much.