Lipstick Covered Latte

Sunday morning laziness
in a bed of rumpled sheets
warm breath upon skin
hearts that gently beat
newspaper across the bed
gentle breeze upon the pane
loosely entwined fingers
you softly call her name
My unexpected presence
A tear you cannot see
A lipstick covered latte
that doesn’t belong to me

poem by Crystal Shearer
photo by Paul Duane

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