Socks

I think I’d like you best
wearing nothing but socks,
tiptoeing across the cold linoleum
to return with a blueberry muffin
that we baked the night before,
and spreading yourself over me,
a napkin, a tarpaulin, a sail…
while I enunciate warm weather words
of wonderful fantasy lands,
C.S. Lewis in one hand, the other
tiptoeing over your hip, exploring
the hollow near the bone, dancing
to a hushed duet.

-03/03/09