Cats, Caviar and Sunday

He shakes and rakes a hand through early morning hair,
the early scratch of stubble on his chin, he smiles
as whistling, he whiles away his time.


He thinks and sips, tart juice on morning tongue,
wonders blearily at the day as kaleidoscopes of memory
clink on the doorstep of crisp, cold winter dawn.


Yesterday she mewed and cried to be let in,
her angora softness, nestled, warm breath sighs,
as wine was opened and left un chilled, forgotten.


Barefoot he waits for pot to steep, reminds himself
to pour the milk and rattle packets into bowls.
Two cups he sets upon the tray.


He likes and lights a cigarette, yet leaves smouldering
and pads across the floor, a quick indrawn breath while
she slinks through open door


and wraps herself around, playfully entangled,
he unwinds his feet and picks to place her purring
upon the draining board.


An early sluish of water, gurgles from upstairs,
the Sunday paper, now steeped tea
he ambles happily away.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 553 times
Written on 2013-10-13 at 19:00

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josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
A simply lovely scene that hints of three loving characters each sharing a warm and gentle touching on an easy soft morning. Now this is a morning I could fantasize over!
2013-10-15