she makes excuses.
she brews a pot of coffee
much too strong for most,

has a special smile
to go with it, turns her head -
i barely see it.

she likes strong coffee,
i do too. no excuses
are necessary.

it's a holdover.
she has steeped long for others
who never refilled.

her coffee became
a bad memory to them,
she, a little off.

she leans on nothing
when she doesn't move, sudden
rapture from bare skin,

morning sun passes
inside. naked both, honey
thick, instinct at fore.

taking it easy
till it feels just right, whether
carpet, table, chair,

this room, that, bottom,
top. this called skin? percolate.
on our knees, the stairs ...

noon sun slathers its
heat on our heat, movements now
creeping, uncoiling,

super natural,
passing into miracle.
shaking we approach.

a descent of sun -
or do we rise? - on a day
roused from its habits,

slipping so far from
its channel, its safety tripped
by activities

seen frivolous or
odd, quirks, quiet obsessions.
we paste together

our bodies, much joy
wasting the day uncensored,
unclothed, fingertipped.

unmatched coffee mugs,
the big ones, each favorite.
i look for your smile

as you turn. I see
supple breasts, relaxed nipples
too. nearly relaxed.

we drink strong coffee
together. always a plus
when two share something

without excuse, like
java sans limits, like the
day's sun passed inside.