Early morning crusty-eyed
limbs ache and muscles pull tight,
rolling over to fill the empty space
the shadow indented in my bed,
It’s still warm.
My toes rest in the carpet,
hugged by the fibers,
and I smell you in the air
Old-Spice-haunted
In my quiet apartment.
The coffeemaker roars and screeches
I long for the rush it shoots through my veins
and into my heart, dark and rich and heavy,
lightened with sweet-cream
Not as heavy as the air that moves around you when
You enter the kitchen.
You’re a too-jittery-already type, coffee
Paralleling the vibrancy that radiates from you with
its caffeine, hot in the mug, my addiction,
one of my addictions.
The other stands next to me, asks about our
Saturday breakfast plan.
Our ritual, a routine, a constant.
I smile.
Your hand on my back and lips touch my own
infusing me with that
full-body, full-rolling-boil, full-on-house-fire rush
Love-lust richness, balanced
By your soft, sweet touch.