We dis-engage from each other
as the bacon sizzles.
It's 7:30 a.m. and the
woman upstairs vacuums
relentlessly--we share a
secret annoyed smile.
He reads the Sunday paper
and I read Neruda.
Snow falls blanketing
the icy ground but
we are warm, yes--
very warm with
our morning love
still painted on us
like Mona Lisa's
smile.
