Amidst the crumbs of croissants

And Sunday papers

We made love

Licking at the remnants

Of strawberry jam

And fingertips

Slightly blackened

With print

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Afterwards we lay back

And I, flicked thru

The magazine

Reading some such story

That I would forget

As I read my

Horoscope

For the week ahead

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Tomorrow would bring

About showers

And rush, rush, rush

An unholy feeling

Of lateness to prevail

But I relish this time

In bed amidst

The crumbs of

Croissants

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©EMG04

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