The tete-a-tetes bloomed overnight,
so I wake up with the sound of your breathing
staring at their little golden heads
peering down from the window above the stairs.
"Look at us, see how pretty," they seem to chime
in five part harmony.
A chorus of tiny yellow daffodils
in the morning light
sing your praises
in my sleep-drugged mind.
And I feel lucky to have them.

I fell asleep on the futon again
were the little reading light is
because I know I'll nod off mid-chapter
and the little 12volt bulb
won't run up the electric bill.
But there's the weight of your arm on my chest
where my book would have been
where I alone,
and the navy Velux throw that's my favorite,
and my glasses on the side table
even though my right perspective remembers
with a dark red imprint
that I fell asleep in them
sometime in the dark morning.
And I feel lucky to have you.

I can see, though blurred by farsightedness,
my bed through the open door,
swathed in sheer netting,
a mountain of navy foam-core pillows,
a place of comfort, a retreat,
just like my idea of paradise
under canopy and toile.
And you who would give that up
and risk the deathgrip of the futon
for my sake,
just so I wouldn't have to
spend even one more night alone.
And, God, I swear they're singing
"You're the luckiest girl in the world."

03/31/2003

Posted on 03/31/2003
Copyright © 2024 Lacy D Phillips