gigondas

Sunday morning coffee
we talk about quiet
and being a City girl
for her
it can be louder than jackhammers
sirens
or screams

across the table
I look up and can't help but think
of her naked
the way her breasts curve
into her hips
and that patch of hair

and she catches the look
and asks
what

smiling
I tell her what I'm thinking
by raising my brows



Sunday morning coffee
for the first time
brewed at home

sitting next to the open window
the only sounds
one lone bird and
a fresh Southern breeze

blowing clean
after a Carolina rain