Hanging in the Hush

Hold me in perfect stillness in
still air while downstairs
the coffee slips into the pot and the sun
warms the windows
but do not stir
just
yet;

your arms
softer than pillows have just fit
and your head has fallen so
and your smooth legs
on mine
twist
and balance
while downstairs the grapefruit
is cold and ripe and red
in the icebox
and the jam is nearly
gone;

but even the sheets
are settled
as we breathe deeply
half awake
letting the last few stars
fall quietly from our eyes
while down
stairs breakfast,
a patient guest,
waits by the newspaper