I pour the orange juice in the morning
while you pour the coffee
You read the paper over a croissant
while I finish braiding my hair

It is easy to imagine
a dream built around this routine
The hypothetical of mundane days
with the promise of breathtaking nights

I can picture it so clearly
no photo is necessary you say.
We sparkle 'round each other,
and laugh in our imaginative snapshots

the grandchildren play checkers
our porch swing creaks
You pull an errant strand from my eyes
I kiss you on the corner of your mouth

It is true, as every good story must be.

(this collaboration presented by the letter C and some cajun dish)

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