I wake this morning
to the faint smell of coffee
and with a mug in my hand.
Somewhere, I am smelling cinnamon.
I sip, eyes closed -- your image before me.
You slide your hands
across my belly, behind my back
to draw me close to you.
Breathing in, falling near,
I lean my head on your shoulder
Your lips press against
my earlobe, brush my neck,
and I smile my way
back to my cup of coffee --
opening my eyes, I do not see you,
but I faintly smell you;
and taste you on my tongue.
For once, I am looking forward
to Christmas this year.
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