I love this man
in the most mundane of ways,
as I listen to him wrestle
with yesterday's bed sheets and linens,
making up a lover's nest-
creating respite from the day's challenges.
I love this man
in the most mundane of ways
as I work late into the night-
grinding fragrant beans,
dark, deep and rich,
the caffeinated dust rising
like sacred fog...
changing the damp filter
and depositing the used grounds
into our compost...
filling the machine with cool,
clear water.
I do these things because
I love my man
in the most mundane of ways.
The moon's magik
flows over me
as somewhere in the shadowed night
a lonely train whistle cries out...
desolate-
craving-
remembering-
It resounds deep within my soul
as I recreate an easy transition for him,
for my love,
from the sleeping state to a waking form.
He rises up in the dark,
always long before I open my eyes
to the morning unfolding.
Small, joyful things...
a fluttering
of the heart,
the slightest touch
of a lover's hand
like the gossamer wings
of a small bird,
flying up to kiss the sun.
Tiny random acts of a small kindness
to heal the world with each passing breath.
These things I do in love.
These things I know to be truth.
I love this man
in the most mundane of ways
because it makes him smile
like the sun bursting forth
from an overcast world.
A cup of true, dark roast love
in an early morning casting call
that is his life
as he begins once again,
with a heart content and knowing
that I will always love this man
in the most mundane of ways.
in the most mundane of ways,
as I listen to him wrestle
with yesterday's bed sheets and linens,
making up a lover's nest-
creating respite from the day's challenges.
I love this man
in the most mundane of ways
as I work late into the night-
grinding fragrant beans,
dark, deep and rich,
the caffeinated dust rising
like sacred fog...
changing the damp filter
and depositing the used grounds
into our compost...
filling the machine with cool,
clear water.
I do these things because
I love my man
in the most mundane of ways.
The moon's magik
flows over me
as somewhere in the shadowed night
a lonely train whistle cries out...
desolate-
craving-
remembering-
It resounds deep within my soul
as I recreate an easy transition for him,
for my love,
from the sleeping state to a waking form.
He rises up in the dark,
always long before I open my eyes
to the morning unfolding.
Small, joyful things...
a fluttering
of the heart,
the slightest touch
of a lover's hand
like the gossamer wings
of a small bird,
flying up to kiss the sun.
Tiny random acts of a small kindness
to heal the world with each passing breath.
These things I do in love.
These things I know to be truth.
I love this man
in the most mundane of ways
because it makes him smile
like the sun bursting forth
from an overcast world.
A cup of true, dark roast love
in an early morning casting call
that is his life
as he begins once again,
with a heart content and knowing
that I will always love this man
in the most mundane of ways.