Perched on a stool
in the morning light,
captivated by your hands
as they gingerly crack
the colorful shells of
eggs you gathered
yesterday.
Your shoulders are impossibly
broad and somehow in
these unassuming moments,
you are also
impossibly tender.
you are strength and
gentleness all wrapped
up in one calloused
package.
You are fascination itself
and I am mesmerized.
In these moments
words are useless
currency,
and the pulsing
energy of last nights
encounter still
lingers and I am
undone and you
are making
breakfast and this,
I think, is the exact
kind of love story
I live for.
