What I Remember

What I remember about that day...

What I Remember

the sun pouring like honey through our bedroom window
 
drinking lukewarm coffee because I don’t want to get up and not hear you breathe just to nuke it hot
 
the red of the apple I had for lunch, the crunch of it when I bit in
 
the white of fresh stucco on the place across the street, the black windows staring back
 
you, cooking onions and garlic and tomatoes and speaking poetry to me
 
drinking wine, the reddest and fullest we’d ever had, or maybe that’s just what I remember
 
the moon and how it might be the largest airport one day
 
you in the doorway of our bedroom
 
nothing
 
everything
 
you.

2 Comments
  • Michelle Sampson
    Reply

    You certainly have the heart of a poet, none more so than in this little postcard!

    Wow, but she did lover her this man!!

    April 16, 2019 at 11:49 pm

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