Bread

I hold this poem like a cup
and pour our happiness in to it.
Let it sit.
let me look at it.

Us pouring wet hot happiness on the bed,
Teeth touching, white bum like two loaves of bread.

I say yes
to your shoulder.
We smoke and eat toast
and it tastes happy.

We could do this over and over,
each little toe holding up the blanket,
a dark tent den
and then again and again
and over and then its over again.

Oh to be this safe and warm
and this happy, this pink and happy,
this naked and this nothing and everything all in one.

Oh to wake up and want to keep on living.