Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Pancakes and Orange Juice

“All yours”

is lettered along my legs,

and inside my heart,

as rain falls,

on your freshly washed car.

“Will you still love me tomorrow?”

is waiting on my lips,

playing on the radio,

playing on my mind,

and I think about how you played along,

when I read your horoscope aloud,

many times,

using my many apps,

and how you only teased me a little,

to be the typical Capricorn I know and love,

so that I’d remember to be reassured,

or, maybe just because,

that’s who you’ve always been.

You said you loved me this morning,

as I snuggled around you,

like the cats do,

and again,

just now,

when you handed me a cigarette,

with a sleepy smile,

standing beside me,

with the shopping,

to your left,


and my shy but devoted heart to your right.

We stand in silence,

as I write,

recalling the charm of your morning texts,

and the way you slept beside me last night,

on the side that felt uncomfortable,

just so we could be close,

and the way you held me this morning,

as I cried over nothing.

You are quiet,

and surprisingly patient,

as the rain continues,

and I take too long to smoke,

because you know I’m lost in my library,

finding things that will put my heart at ease,

and I recall that you went out,

when I was showering,

to fetch me breakfast,

saying you loved me,

with pancakes,

and orange juice.

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