There is a time in our marriage
when the days move between us
so sweetly, with such peace, they leave
no footprint.
They have the faint feel of dreams.
They seem like mere glimpses into dreams.
Mornings of cheese omelettes.
Afternoon strolls by the truth filled lake.
Microwaved leftovers for dinner
in our laps by the TV.
He is the sauce
and I the pasta.
He is the Clint Eastwood movie
and I am the popcorn.
Now he is the water
and I am the eyes.
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