We have that easy, lazy kind of love.
That sleep in late and wake up gently
     to morning kisses kind of love.
A love so simple and genuine
there's no effort involved at all, really.
                        It just is.
I knew from the very start
we were something special, baby,
when your slow smile reached out
to take hold of my heart,
no trying needed.
                       And we just were.
And now, now baby,
we have that beautiful love,
     that lazy kind of love.
And it's sitting together for
     a cup of morning coffee,
And little reminders of affection
     left for surprise.
It's the slow breath in
     after the content sigh
     following a deep kiss in the rain.
And never wanting to leave,
     always returning for
     just one more.
We have that easy love,
     the carefree kind of love.
                      And it just is.

The museum feels like heaven, feels like I could walk into the corner Pollack and the indiscriminate Monet, but there’s the characterization of Thomas Kane and you hate Mondays security guard.

The man with a beard followed me all the way from the Impressionist room to the modern films and when he finally made me lift my eyes from the canvas, his were turquoise and shook me awake.

I kept running up the stairs because I finally found out where they keep the hidden garden with the spiraled copper fountain and I laughed when I found my reflection in the Italian enamel.

You fell asleep with your head on my knees.
The weight of your skull was alarmingly heavy, so I played with your hair until you woke up. The moment of recognition on your face was so human I wanted to cry.

You scrunch up your eyebrows and touch your glasses trying to remember and a tiny echo of a perfect smile plays on your lips. You kiss me exactly and hum along.

You carried a contraband white umbrella into the gallery so we hid it under a desk. Your helmet was still blank so I gave you some concept art. Your languid loss of service as a multitude of goodbyes allow me to kiss your forehead right as your thoughts hit the pillow.


So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I understand why you tuck me into a warmer blanket before you leave for work in the morning with your heavy boots and your thermos and let me sleep while you shower and kiss me awake for breakfast with a cup of coffee in hand.

**** up
your daily dose of caffeine
and face the world
with nothing else but
an empty slate for hope
and
a drained cup of faith

My mornings were filled with you.
The moment I woke
to the hurried steps
of my dog in the early sun
to a half-burnt bagel
on a ceramic blue plate
to a subway car filled with eyes
riveted on some distant fantasy
to a stretch of sidewalk
on which I'd often run,
to a crowded silent elevator,
to a chair in a room
where I'd anxiously wait
for a girl with long curls
and a leather jacket
to walk through the door and smile
at me.

My mornings are still filled with you.
The moment I wake
with a heavy sigh,
to the reluctant steps of my feet
dragged by a dog in cold light,
to a kitchen where I stop mid-breakfast
to recall a smile a million miles away,
to a gasp that shakes my soul
with tears unbidden falling into my cereal.

You have gone and I am here
caught in a web of memories
quickly fading,
leaving me empty.

I''ll have my coffee black
And my pancakes chocolate chipped.
Don't take the paper back,
I was reading those comics.
What happened to your shirt, darling?
(That stain below the pocket…)
It was crisp and white this morning,
Now it’s got a puddle on it.
Here, let me open the window up-
I want to hear the sunshine.
Here, let me refill your cup.
Oh my, it’s nearly nine!
Wait, I'm going to give you a kiss.
For that there is enough time.

I don't want to leave
our limb-locked warmth in our sheets,
but the day calls us.

I have eaten the last of the Corn Pops
and I feel like life no longer holds meaning .
Perhaps the calcium overdose from eating
a cereal box with a gallon of whole milk in 1 hour
will **** me and soon enough I'll never have
this empty lost feeling ever again.  
In other words... I'm still hungry.