On Saturdays, We Linger
Garlic and onion, potatoes and bacon, the scents swirl through the house to reach me in the den, where I write.
I’m on my second cup of coffee, sweetened and creamed. Cinnamon floats atop foam.
Though we’ve payed bills and made plans, we’ve not showered or given a damn.
How sweet it is, to share space and love, with an agenda slow as molasses.
On Saturdays, we linger.