Your sound

Listen each morning,
To the creaking of the bed,
A body turning in its waking;
Cars clip on as the street lights,
Glow colder into day;
I hear the door handle turn,
Feet pad down the stairs,
To the coffee jar and toasted bread;
The aroma drifts upwards,
Stiring my senses.
This familiarity is you,
The person I trust.

For Rog love Mary **