Tuesday Morning

Within a candid moment, I thought
how I like it when she moves 
about the house in various
stages of undress.  Confessing desires 

comes easy in the early hours.
Sometimes she’ll sigh

how she is calm when 
I am near her, and I am moved
to say something like: Me too.

Instead I smile and sip my secret 
(whiskeyed) coffee—

once she’s dressed for the day
I must provide my own 
comfort.  Maybe layered cloth and 

shoes that hurt her worried feet
conspire to cover what should be 
exposed: Though we inch daily

towards dying, our bodies are warm;

we get what we need; life gives
enough, when it’s simple.

(c)allen weber                  

published in Loch Rave Review