This Morning is Green

It's Tuesday morning.
7 a.m.
It's the perfect morning.

Your two fingers
are the feet
of an ebullient person
walking along
my freckled shoulder, and
crooning my name, and
"please please please"ing
me to make love.

I smile as they
move to my hair,
take my curls
to your nose that
breathes them in
deeply.

We leave the bed, unwillingly,
to put muesli fruits
in matching plates,
a breakfast for our lazy morning.

It's the perfect Tuesday morning.