sunday.
the croissant crumbles in my fingers
buttery flakes drift towards mismatched
china
and your lips are stained with
strawberry jam.
monday.
sleep clings to your eyes
like a shadow
and i watch you breathe, while
i trace your collarbone with
tired fingers.
tuesday.
we wake before the alarm
and count how many times the
neighbor’s dog barks
before she finally lets him in.
your soft laugh blends perfectly into
the early morning sun.
wednesday.
your fingers trace the curve
of my spine
the old window rattles
in the wind
and i press my cold toes against your leg.
thursday.
half asleep
i mumble how the faded, flowery wallpaper
looks pretty in the sun.
you tell me i look prettier.
friday.
i tickle your cheek with my eyelashes
and make my fingers do
ski jumps
off your nose
and wonder out loud why
the room smells like oranges
(you tell me you ate some
for a midnight snack.)
saturday.
linen sheets feel soft against
my sleepy toes
and i miss you until you come in
carrying a clinking tray of
milky coffee
and strawberries
and you smile
and crawl back in bed, and
sing softly in french
while we eat.
