Morning Promises.
The morning makes promises with
The meaningless dance of our bodies in the
Orange light –
The way your arm slips through mine
When I bend to put on my socks,
Or the way my hand finds itself in the small of your back
As the kettle hums to itself, absently.
This morning makes promises as our
Bodies slowly and gently work
Around each other, a new sex that
Gives birth to a quiet kind of life
That stretches like a road of smoke
Before my patient feet.
This morning makes promises
With your smile, and the waiting cup
In your hand.
Maybe this time it says.
Maybe this time.
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