Sunday mornings...
Lounge with me...luxuriate.
Let me bring you splits of champagne that explode with a pop that wrecks the quiet color of the morning...
Let me push your sleep hair from your eyes, kiss a forehead and pile pillows behind you to get comfortable...
Let the talk be low...lazy.
Let me find socks to place on your feet.
Let there be no television, but rather songs played quietly in the background, an almost-white noise to just barely disrupt the silence.
There will be not talk of futures...no discussion of pasts.
Rather, it is just a conversation of the now. What we are thinking in this quiet moment.
Outside the light is warming, the window filling with yellows and a bit of gold. Almost the color of the champagne.
Inside you blink and regard me...and it is a favorite sight of mine.
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