Kitchen Romance

You place the back of your hand against my cheek
and draw it slowly down my face
against the bristles of my stubble beard,
riffling me as if I were a deck of cards.

Coming close to me, you snuggle your face
into my chest, your head fitting neatly beneath my chin.
We dance to the music in our minds, our bodies rhythmic,
our feet barely moving.

We are in the kitchen.  Your feet are bare
on the linoleum.  In my socks, my feet are cold.
The room is small but we don't need much space.
I nuzzle the top of your head, bending to kiss your neck,
nibble at your ear lobe.

The phone rings.  Granddaughter calling because
Grandma is her favorite person in the world.  We
laugh and separate - to be continued later.


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Two people walking on path in bright woods

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