love poem for a reluctant thursday

the morning has just begun
to accept itself
i sit
over my
uneasy egg
and english muffin
with tomato
with plate eyed epicuriosity
at an edible matisse
and a cleverist essay
fresh from
the ritual of grinding beans
fine art
within comforting aromatics
i know as i inhale the steam
behind me
you are standing in the breeze way
peering in the kitchen door
church mouse quiet
touching the ancient iron knob
with no intentions of turning it
your eyes find the back of my neck
and the pink dish soap by the sink
you will leave an empty bottle of bushmill’s
and a full love letter
on the stoop
after your footsteps fade
i will claim them
in the hopes of some
lingering trace
of you

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