Missing you

At the sudsy soapy sink

I think

With hands that have a care

Wrinkled fingers, rosy pink,

would rather be elsewhere

That eggy fork with yolky tines

needs scrubbing carefully

I’m thinking more of valentines

and Christmases to be

The curvature of salad bowls

The roundness of a spoon

They summon back, in sweet repose,

my lady of the moon.

 

 

 

 

 

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