by Wayne Scheer
You know how in the movies
lovers wake up after a night
we can only imagine,
not a hair out of place,
entangled in each other's arms,
and the first thing they do
is smile at one anther and kiss?
Well, how come his arm isn't sore
from her laying on it all night,
and forget the morning breath kiss
and the perfect hair,
don't they have to pee so bad
they feel they're about to burst open
like a pinata?
No snore escapes her lips,
no drool from his.
I squint to see you in the morning light,
mouth scrunched on your pillow,
looking like a cabbage patch doll.
And despite it all,
I want to kiss you.
Of course I don't
because you wouldn't wake with a smile
and my bladder
takes precedence over passion,
my teeth need brushing
and I want coffee so bad
I swear the Keurig is calling my name.
But I still want to kiss you.