cool honey, warmed

since six weeks ago

 

your red socks,

on the floor by the sofa, camoflaged against the red rug,

went unnoticed as we drank cocktails,

and i pinched your bare toes, rolling them between my fingers

 

your pale blue underwear,

beneath the wingback in the bedroom,

abandoned in your one leap from inside your clothes to under my covers,

and you wriggled and beamed.

my ass looks so plump in them

 

your white underwear,

with your fragant wet dried in the crotch,

forgotten as you toweled off and slipped on a fresh clean pair,

rushing off to work.

i washed them, of course, before i returned them, just

 

your black cardigan,

on that same bedroom chair,

beneath the extra pillow that you flung from the bed

so that you could sleep comfortably,

and we did, at least until we awoke

right on the line between late night and early morning

and once again we spoke together in the dark

 

now, your robe - you asked about that.

you held it up for me,

not afraid, but cautious,

you asked me if you could leave it. for next times.

 

so i wonder at these forgettings -

not deliberate, but

maybe

you attend less when you gather your things

because we both know we both want you here, in my life

 

cool honey, warmed, loosens,

and runs into the bread