He looks like the open road to me
As he makes my perfect cup of tea
He throws up no obstructions
When buttering toast for me
No ongoing construction
Or pothole warnings ahead
He offers this picnic gently
A request for entry to my bed
His smile is shy and framed with eyes of leaf and moss
Lashes long and pink mouth brush soft
He draws beauty and lines yet unseen
He is my maker of sex, toast and tea.
April 15 2018 2220pm