Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Morning breath

The cup on
my bathroom counter
holds two toothbrushes
and the memory of 
minty breath and 
mornings spent cuddling
under that pearly 
white down comforter; 
of lips on 
the lookout for 
a surprise attack
on cheeks or
forehead or any
patch of kissable
skin, which shivered
each time you 


smiled at me. 

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