one where dayspring is met
with ostrich egg omelettes
strong coffee

                      and no excuses

sunshine and nakedness
in our morning kitchen
dishes are polished clean
with metaphor

                        in our place
you never wear pants, no matter
how old your underwear
because

           we are easy together
I always know you love my curves
our only tears over ted’s last poem

        we’ve an ocean out each window -

through eastern panes, a fierce neighbor
buffets skiffs and schooners
as the sun rises red in the morning

in the west, pacific waves lick
fine-spun sand - sunset stains glass
in colors, you say, that dance in my eyes

our bed is made with crumbs
from loaves of bread
ripped apart to feed the other

and wine stains dribbled
as we drink from the bottle
too lazy to get up for glasses
from a mattress on the floor

no top nor bottom - thighs pillow
cheeks, noses snuggle
into the essence of each other

in our house
we feed the bird, feed the fish
and forget to water the plants


© 2003 by PJ Nights
Previously published at the muse apprentice guild