i miss you most
in the mornings
when my body wiggles
out of the soft cotton sheets
and i turn on the coffee maker
to smell the aroma
that greets the pine trees
and the moon still flirting
with the shadows
i miss you most
in the mornings
when i burn the logs
in the fireplace
that has gone asleep
with the embers
of last night's juices
exchanged initially
from a coffee cup
i miss you now
in between the silences
of muted voices
of birds about to wake up
of streets readying
to be rolled over
by speeding cars
of lovers oversleeping
in beds
other than theirs
i miss you now
and the morning travels
in familiar places marked
by your smell
and dried-up sweat
rolling once more
with the coffee
spilled on your breast
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem