2: 33 In The Morning

waking up from a dream
this one says, i am making love with my neighbor's wife

i rise from bed and drink a glass of cold water
and then i sigh
it is not true after all and i have not sinned indeed
why such a subconscious train of thought inside the tunnel of
secret desire and where shall this map lead me?

i shiver to this, i sense a snail breaking its own shell
i hear the cracking sound of popcorn
and smell the butter from the kitchen window

my wife wakes up and follows me in the wind screen of
dawn. It is cold she says and she lands on my lap and
kisses me.

there is nothing wrong i tell her.
there is really nothing wrong, i assure myself as i type the last word
for this poem.

love is better in the silent mode.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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