leisure suit

 
The weather suits my lack of clothes.  
 Pleasant as soft skin, the spring breeze  
 whispers to me through my opened window  
 telling me to awaken today with less debris  
 
 Inclined to oblige, momentum has become  
 my mantra, and mumbles through the coffee  
 until it drips to clear speech. Drag bristles  
 along teeth, slice grapefruit, and break fast  
 on back porch  
 
 My homing, nearly suits my mood.  
 I start back on removing the clutter  
 that has given too much amperage to metaphor  
 to distinguish the difference, and a path is  
 cleared to each window. Every door is propped  
 open with fans blowing out. The house has just  
 recently stopped smoking, and I pat its back with  
 love, as it clears itself through heavy coughs  
 
 I coordinate my breath with the stretching of limbs,  
 concentrate past attention, and reverberate vowels  
 off the hollow of my inner until they taste the lips  
 of the everything-outer. Come back to the most-of-the-time  
 navigator and hydrate. The water tastes like wine, and my  
 intoxication needs space. I tighten my shoelaces and step to stroll  
 
 Preparing my dinner suits my nutrition. The radio plays  
 a manageable romance. Domesticity, doesn't taste nearly  
 as bad when I do it myself. The house sneaks a cigarette  
 and for a split second, I remember how her arms felt around  me