it's five
in the morning
and i'm at
a seashore.
the sky is
slowly
becoming pink
and i have
had tears of
happiness.
tears of
the last
glowing stars.
a small coffeeshop
run by an old woman
who loves hot mugs,
and her husband,
a florist who
brings flowers
for the cafe. —
i sit by a window;
the music is soft
and people are few.
the coffee here
reminds me of
a distant memory
i can't quite recall.
wet hair, white shirt,
eyes blushed with sleep —
i walk home
from here.
the street smells
of bread from a bakery,
tea from the cups
of an outdoor cafe,
and cigarette mixed
with last night's rain.
i stop at the
pâtisserie
to buy freshly
baked pastries
for two.
i'm home now
and the clothes
are already turning
in the washing machine.
there is your familiar
face that i love, and
there are warm kisses.
there is some tea,
and the little sounds
of a home that
harbours life.
we sleep together
in the middle of day;
our legs interlocked
and hearts beating.
it could be afternoon or
it could be eleven,
but i'm awake. and
you have made coffee
and put forks next to
the box of cakes.
there's a song in the
background, and we
are talking about
everything in the world.
my hair is dry now
and you're laughing
at something that i said.
the sunlight is
fading and
the twinkling lights
appear in the sky and
in our living room and
the balcony doors.
fresh vegetables and
leftovers in the refrigerator;
we make dinner together.
you do the dishes
while i bring out two
bowls for our dessert.
while you watch the
film, i sit next to you
and write about today.
maybe we will sleep soon,
or take a walk to the beach
or stay up all night
and make art and talk
and drink too much coffee.
maybe tomorrow
there will be work,
and offices
and paperwork
and bad weather
and writer's block
and an argument.
maybe the world
will crumble and
become dust
in the morning.
but today,
all my dreams
have come true.
and since ordinary
is so brilliant,
we can make
a perfect day
over and over again.