Morning

Morning                                                                                                                                                                                          I want to wake up one morning

to the smell of pancakes wafting 

into the bedroom from the kitchen

where you're talking to the milk man

in some smoothly flowing foreign language

that I'm struggling to learn. 

I want to get up that morning 

and walk into the kitchen

bed-haired and sleepy-eyed

as you turn around and close the door

and slide a mug across the table

"how about some coffee, sleepy-head?" 

I want to eat breakfast that morning

while we're both reading the daily paper 

in another language, mind you,

and as I sip my coffee and eat my pancakes,

our feet touch and a smile slips out

you can't see it, but you know it's there

And you smile.