Walking on Tip-Toe at 3:30 in the Morning on Valentine’s Day

Another morn; another nudge

From warm, delicate toes against the back of my ankle.

I rouse, but linger in the warmth of fleece and flannel,

Awaiting the next, more urgent, yet gentle, nudge.

Receiving it, I tread the cold wood to cold porcelain fixtures

Disturb their gleaming purity with her excellent chocolate cake,

And soap;

And toothpaste

And whiskers.

And I smell the coffee downstairs as I dress in silence,

And brace for my labors in the cold, cold world

Which awaits.

But that  frigid air

And  that frosty management

Become but mild distraction

As I tip-toe back in  the darkness

To kiss the perfect cheekbone

Of the one who is my Heart.



Happy Valentine’s Day




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