Love is a soft blue wall behind the headboard,
Leaf-addled sunlight playing on a thigh,
The cool innocence of fresh-laundered sheets,
A languid Sunday.

Love is a crossword shared,
A soft-poached egg, espresso, sourdough morning,
Bamboo wind-chimes and dragonflies,
Adirondack chairs arm to arm.

Love is a hand on the knee,
Brunette DNA tousled about a finger,
Fresh squeezed, delivered daily,
The lyric to a gentle duet.

Bryson Thomas