Verse: Saturday morning

in the mercenary morning
when i have sent
my dreams to bed

and taken my place
at the kitchen table
with the morning paper

i note the bend
of your bare leg
as you slice an orange

the way your black robe
nestles into your contours
like i do, at night

how your hair
hangs softly on
your shoulders sleeping

and I'm thinking
there is nothing you could feed me
as nourishing as a kiss.