| I reach across the bedspread, our fingers touch. Pinkie to palm. The tender second our fingers meet. I open my eyes, see your face, the tip of the nose toward my nose. Eskimo kiss. Mere moments until the alarm rings, our morning ritual commences: my scalding shower yours, water far too cold brewed coffee apple cinnamon tea. Hand in hand, to the subway. Our fingers touch one last time. Ghost-like, the sad goodbye lingers, haunting our good morning. |
| Good Morning |