deepundergroundpoetry.com
You Giggled Again
Seated on the edge
of our un-made bed
you slip
a tight fitting
sweat-shirt
over your head
it's pulling
your hair
the morning sun
winks at
your thigh
as you lean in
to point toes
through
chimneys
smoking
yester-years
colorful
Yoga
Lying there
I stare
listening to the birds
singing praises
to your skin
thinking
let's
do this
forever
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