Warm Italian sun streaking
in on a west coast sunrise
through billowing whites.
Babe at ease in her basket
(so bright she has your eyes)
as she looks about and coos wide.
It is early morning after all
as the sun lays soft upon your cheek
that I kiss as I rise, take our babe to breast
mill about setting out
morning paints and words
softly humming in my head
ready to be laid to ink.
Thinking of breakfast fruits,
your cider, my tea, Babe's milk,
if I should send you for bread.
Cool tile on warm feet chilled
Hair disshelved, gossamer
gown alluding to nude,
I seek our bed again and your arms
that engulf so strong and readily
through gentle smiles we all three spoon.
