Twin Peaks

In bed, the two of them sitting up, sipping coffee,
in the early morning,
their feet stretched out in front of them, legs crossed
under the luxurious beige comforter
forming twin peaks,
his peak a little higher than hers,
as he imagines a desert scene, the shifting winds,
radical temperature changes
and the surging storms,
causing the peaks to disappear from time to time,
only to return again the next morning,
the aroma of coffee resetting the scene,
alerting them,
another storm system may be coming through
at any minute.

The scene often varies at night, no aroma of
fresh coffee, of course,
and the two occupants, prone to snuggling,
make the twin peaks at the bed’s foot
look more like a mountain pass,
but here, too, there are weather changes,
the pervading darkness
holding the night’s heat as the passing storm
dissipates and later opens to the morning’s
first stirrings
where all is rested and fresh, including the coffee,
and the twin peaks reappear,
anticipating change,
for one reason or another.

Occasionally, some nights, neither twin peaks nor
mountain passes are evident,
the imagined desert covered with a thin sheet of neglect
in favor of the outdoors,
the two pairs of feet that give rise to the peaks
bare now and entwined,
as are their bodies, bathed in August’s soft warmth,
the light breeze caressing them
as they lie on a blanket, on her home’s deck,
caressing each other
until passion, succumbing to comfort’s call,
draws them inside again,
there to spoon and dip into the night.



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