Sometimes, looking at you in the light of the kitchen I want to run a finger Down the length of your nose but I know you'd wrinkle it, and shake your head citing a tickle, but kiss behind my shoulder as soon As I turn away
When my feet make ice pools in the bed Toes accidentally brushing your ankle and you **** abruptly, but upon hearing My sigh, trap them back with your ankles til, martyr that you are, I'm engulfed in Warmth at your Expense.
Sometimes the last trickle of milk is mine, for the coffee, Silent with your eyes smiling fondly, you look on as I sip, resolutely stirring powdered Dead baby souls into mug as substitute.
Even damp smelly socks Greasy hair Neurotic tears and Intellectual rambling epiphanies
Even childish blunders, fudging the Budget or burning the toast