I left your bed this morning
when it was still warm
darkness meshed with
the cool morning air
a pool of gold
washed over the floor
the first flash of light
smashed into the window
painting a streak in your hair
I would paint you in oils
but I know not of art
when I got to the kitchen
the stove was still cold
so I made you fresh coffee
with the warmth of my heart.
Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson
All right reserved.
