As Morning Slips in Through the Window

As morning light slips in through the window, I

slip you out of bed,

set my hand upon the small of your back

lift your hand into their air

and we begin to waltz.

We dance to tune of birds chirping at the window,

birds that have beat us to the day,

we dance

and slip out of dancing,

we take a shower and eat breakfast,

and dance some more,

we meet with friends for coffee,

go back home,

play some music,

watch a movie,

read a book

eat dinner,

watch a bit more Netflix,

spend some time alone,

meet back together again

between soft sheets,

our eyelids heavy,

our breathing still,

I kiss you-

honestly, it is an expectant kiss,

you see through all my movements,

you smile, you sigh,

we think of dancing,

we fall asleep.

The next morning, who knows?

Perhaps we will dance again.

LORD, Make me a Tea Kettle

LORD, make me a tea kettle,

rather than a firework

for a firework shoots up into the sky

and explodes

and everyone “ooh”‘s and “ahh”‘s

and comments on how bright and magical it was,

But that’s the rub

“Was” is the operative word,

for a firework is always magnificent

But always past tense,

a figment of nostalgia,

Reserved for folklore

And hyperbole.

No, I am not a man of legend,

Not Paul Bunyan or Daniel Boone.

I am here and now,

And wish to be known as such.

So, let me be a tea kettle,

simply providing warmth

and consistency

To a world full of fireworks,

and starved for its afternoon tea.