- my husband whom never would I marry
- sleeps in my garage
- while I
- lounge under a down comforter alone in the bedroom.
- our breakfasts are in the nook,
- in the shade of the foliage.
- the shadow leaves play across his rumpled face.
- we speak of our young cat daughter
- who stays out all night and does not attend to our wishes and wants.
- in the faltering afternoon sun birds sing in the bushes
- while we sip our tea under a wind-tattered umbrella
- no longer foolishly taut.
- lemon butter stains our napkins and our scones.
- we laugh the laugh of the golden koi who neither kisses nor hugs
- yet gives out pleasures in a stream.
- and at night we drink dry, red wine
- and look from different places at the stars.