pith…

the reverberation of the garage door opening tickles me from below,
i can’t wait for you to come back up after your morning smoke.

i miss your warm breath against my shoulders, your arms around me,
the tip of your toes protruding from the blanket’s warmth
on an anonymous wisconsin morning – is it sunny, raining, snowing?

i hear you downstairs: checking your e-mail, eating cereal.
i know what your doing – routine runs our lives.

i hear you upstairs now: changing into your clothes,

you knock on the door: “honey, you still in the bathroom? its been ten minutes.”
i answer, “i’ll be right out, after i finish this line.”