Sometimes It’s the Silent Talks

Sometimes it's the silent talks after
restless souls waltz out of bed for pancakes

with syrup and black coffee too bitter
for the tongue. I on the kitchen

counter, and you kissing my neck, us
tip-toeing around the place. Your roommate

in bed while you and I dream silly dreams
sleep won't satisfy. We cook ten minutes

to find the stove isn't on. You sigh and slip me
an embarrassed grin, staring at me

staring at our inside glimpse of subdued light
me laughing with fingertips around your arm.

Without words to stain our small moment
of pancake batter but no pancakes stuck

in sweet head-space somewhere much too close
in this nothing moment I know I love you.

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