A Wet Saturday
The rain came heavy and mild,
melting the piles of dirty snow,
and flooding the gutters.
On Monday they say
the snow will come again.
The first real winter in years.
My love and I nurse our hangovers,
expensively acquired last night,
and toy with plans for the day.
Won't do that again we vow;
experience suggests otherwise.
Just the odd one perhaps.
We make love as old friends do,
easy, knowing each others ways.
Bringing smiles to the wet afternoon.
Then lie in contemplation,
her dark skin against my stark white,
each lost in thought.
It's five - the thought of eating comes.
We search the icebox,
and find the remains of Friday's dinner.