In the morning I awake
and fake twitching
just to get you itching
to kick me out of bed.
Said trick is all to get
you to roust me
with your sweet kick
and then douse me
with your love’s mock:
“Baby, you are the rock
upon which
I rest my head.”
In the day to kill tired
so wired I drink
an espresso and think
you want to hear my confess-o-
matic malarkey
and that you hark me
because you bark at me
with your crooked grin:
“Honey, you are the wind
beneath my
feathery skirts.”
At night when all light is done,
I reply:
“Darlin’, you are the one,
the sun
that blinds
the twinkle in my eye.“
