the little whispers of a good morning
Your sleeping head on the pillow, lips pouched ever-so-slightly around your long, slow breaths.
Your company to my car - a kindness that's never taken for granted.
Leaning against a whitewashed brick wall with a waxpaper cup of Kenyan co-op coffee, using my long red bangs to curtain off some of the strong Venice sun as I'm flirting with a pony-sized husky with big brown eyes. His owners are talking about the Iditarod, and suddenly I want to go sled-dog-racing with you.
The ginger bundt cake somebody brought in to this light-filled new office, redolent of maple and orange and slightly sticky to the fingers, that I nibble thoughtfully as I sit back to watch seagulls in the skylight.