The Gruntled Decade
was upon them both,
separate but equal
began ineluctably to pale.
Still, each attended a worn path
through house and yard infrequently
overlapping,
except in the wide bed.
He moved by complaisance carefully
through his early morning
knowing that she must wake to
such kind subterfuge each day,
Her late sleeping closed against his
ablutions,
she squeezed dreams from the clunk
and flushes of early morning.
He left the room robed and slippered
trailing the new day into the kitchen
where she knew he flipped on the light, too bright,
and started his coffee. She drank tea.
Dark aroma, crisp begin to each new day
consoled her push into pillows.
Fragrance on the ledge of light
became a part of cuddling back,
Ensconced
inside the inner landscape
that fades
with every move upon the pillow.
One night’s reverie torn gently,
along the dotted line,
coupon of contentment,
from this shared life.
