It is a little late for breakfast,
more like brunch time,
or, just getting up after
a late night.
She makes sure to sit next
to him, not across,
touches his arm often,
an occasional kiss on a bicep
keeps her eyes on his face,
trying to catch his eye.
His gaze stays forward
elbows on the table,
hands clasped.
It seems the morning after
breakfast is afterglow for one,
obligation to the other.


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Afterglow

  1. Scrawlerman

    this has echoes for me, great writing…..

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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