You make me

lunch then walk

away from the table

to shave your beard.

​

We have quiet

rituals in the after-

noon even when

the rain is diagonal.

​

It’s been another

Monday that flips

over like your spatula

tempering cubed potatoes.

​

Then Tuesday wakes

after little sleep

and whatever things

my body allowed.

​

Eighteen hours

of music and music

soon kiss me naked-

faced, out the door.