I glimpse you from the corner of my eye,
walking quietly down the stairs . . .
drawn by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and bagels crisping in the toaster.
My pulse quickens at the sight of you . . .
at the touch of your sensual perfume on my senses.
I think to myself, “So much for surprise breakfast in bed.”
But still, I close my eyes and smile in silent thanks . . .
for a life shared with you.
Deep in my serene thoughts, I feel your warm palms
holding and caressing my cheeks.
“Are you awake,” you ask, squinting at me curiously.
I fall into your dark enveloping eyes . . .
pondering your question.
Am I awake, or do I dream you into my life every day?
With you, is there any difference between
awake . . . or dreaming?
I hug you . . . almost too tightly . . .
and kiss your forehead . . .
. . . The only way I know to answer your question.
Copyright ©1998 by
Leon D. Schlossberg. All rights reserved.
Published in Poetry the Write Way: Webstatic – First Journey
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