I dream
of a little house with
a black and red kitchen
in a country where
the language
is not my own.

A cat on a chair
and a dog on the patio
as children play
in the yard between
the hedge and
the garden.

A hand on my hip
pulling me in
for a quick hug
and a sweet kiss
as your pan sizzles
and my chef's knife stills.

A teasing pat on my ***
and flour on your nose
signals laughter
and promises for later
as the sun sets
to the sounds of happiness.