Another poem of domestic bliss

She shuffles in, soggy eyed,

enslippered: I dreamt

of a world where crystals floated

out of the sky, catching light…

 

Her eyebrows cave in and down:

But they came to us slower than rocks should fall.

Maybe the gravity was different?

No, they weren’t rocks,

somehow, they were–

they were water!

 

And oh, the colors…

 

He smiled: good morning, love.

Handed her a cup: have you

looked outside?

 

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