Not on Paper

Ours is not on paper.
There is no test to measure.
He speaks and I finish the sentence.

The look the same each time.
I tiptoe to the kitchen while he sleeps.
I scoop the coffee that starts his day.

No words.
The cigarette blurs his face,
And I pour the cup always near the brim.

Beds by me.
It's how we do it.
Clothes are washed his way.

Sweet, fresh smell of sheets.
He folds them the same each time.
French is to do it right.

The same chair.
Dinner for two.
The thank you is a glance.

Communion of two souls.
All we need.
Ours is not on paper.

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