By Lisa Shields
Date: 16 February 2001
Ridge Breakfast
Dreams wrapped around me
like cloud fluffy cotton batting
beneath the cedar beams,
luxuriating in the scent
of you
me
us blended into strong perfume---
but...mmmm...no that couldn't be...
coffee?
One form of addiction
gives way to another
and the brain kicks into
pig after truffles mode.
COFFEE.
And God---you found me KONA
with just a touch of chocolate almond
by the smell
that drifts up.
I can hear it perk---
oh that's a sweet sound
a siren song lulling me
from the warm comfort of the tick.
And no---that can't be pancakes
that I'm smelling.
Sadist.
You warmed the syrup too,
so now maple has invaded the loft
and the last vestige of lazy
is heaved over the rail
by a body hungry for fuel.
Yawn.
Stretch.
No, I will not look into the mirror.
I am not charmingly disheveled---
that's for the twenty year olds.
But as I pad down
I feel blood in my cheeks
and try not to remember
the gentle war you waged
long past midnight.
You are wearing a chef's apron
and a smile.
Breakfast, love?
God yes.
I accept the glass of juice
my god---fresh squeezed orange?
sip
and feel the taste explode on my tongue
and trickle down my throat like sweet sunlight.
They have a saying around these parts
that she married him for her days,
not her nights.
But I think I got both
in a snug wood beamed cabin
tucked high on the Ridge.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner