I say hello,

and how would you like breakfast

this sunny-side-up morning?

Wait on scrambled bedsheets while I open

windows of frosted cereal and milk.

The coffee will wake the day and you

under pillows of warm cream, just as

the eggs deviled-style in a Spanish omelet would.

I could make quick French toast drizzled

in maple syrup and cloud-crowned

with vanilla whip, if you so wish.

Some hash browns beside cured meat

would entice nicely, or perhaps

you’d rise to a promised tower 

of tender pancakes served rich

with tart marmalade or honey butter?

How about some newly-made muffins

split and still steaming along with

the beverage of thick chocolate comfort?

I could serve some pudding generous

with crumbled streusel topping, maybe even

bring in a plateful of assorted fruits

all ripe and sweet just rightly.

You could watch the early TV news,

listen to predicted traffic and weekend weather

over buttery bread rolls as I rush

a good high-rise souffle along with

a dewy glass of lemonade, fresh and cool

like picked bouquet and chirping air?
 
 

You smile, simply state

what you think is a better proposition:

how about we skip the morning entirely

and miss the world behind closed blinds;

let’s retreat to quiet satellite and circle

this very firepoint here on the bed

to fill up, reheat, slowly partake

all of last night’s leftovers

over and over?
 
 

I make a protest, saying

we’ll go hungry soon later

without having something more filling

and yet, both I and the morning

stand still here at the doorway

not moving, except to smile.
 
 

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