Tea with My Husband
I climb into bed thinking of
the kids’ shoes readied by the door
backpacks packed, bills paid,
the computer’s final hum
and click before shutdown.
The kettle spits and whistles
over the furious burner.
I hear water splashing into our mugs,
into the same mugs we have used for years.
No amount of sugar could make this any sweeter:
the moment when you place our teas on the nightstand
and slip your warm body into the sheets.
I love the way we border each other
into the night.