After Breakfast

My mouth drips

at the whiff of our garden onions, sautéed.

The coffee you made runs its fingers along the walls.

First swallow strong and scorching, the way I like it best.

Look at you, flipping omelettes with your shirt off.

Smiling at my nest of brown hair and baggy striped nightie.

This is culinary seduction, early.

While we’re both fresh from sleep

and eager for all the possibilities of a Sunday morning.

 

 

 

Kim Mannix is a poet, journalist, wannabe horror writer, mom, wife, hypochondriac, music nerd, TV snob and feminist who has lived in seven Canadian cities and has decided to stay for awhile in Sherwood Park, Alberta. She writes about things sometimes at www.makesmesodigress.com.