He makes me
homemade pizza on Tuesday nights,
a carefully styled TV tray plied with a
full glass of red wine, entertainment and
a black dog resting at our feet, precisely
positioned over the large stain on the rug.
The rug that should be replaced, but never is.
I like it because it's whimsical and fits me.
Love needs separate covers on our shared bed
so that when he flings off the covers during
the night, my warm cocoon is not disturbed.
We always start the night with cuddles and
move away when we hear the even
breathing of the other.
He is the husband who smiles at me first thing
in the morning,
I am the wife who makes homemade
granola while writing poems in her
head.
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