Your disheveled hair

before ten in the morning,

while taking our first sips of coffee

on the deck with our dogs nearby.

 

The fragrance of your neck;

especially when it’s not from a bottle.

Delicate, original, and only yours.

 

Your sadness for old shoes

left in the weather, forgotten and worn,

while trying them on again to give them hope.

 

And blaming me when an animal is hurt

in a movie neither of us have seen.

Because the universe should speak to me

in advance about such important matters.