Morning

He stares at her hair on the pillow.
At her eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
The gray sunlight kissing her short nose.
He eases himself from the bed.
Walks to the door.
And into the kitchen.
He turns on the radio on the kitchen counter.
Dancing to the music while he cooks.
He flips the eggs.
He's smiling.
He remembers the night before,
Her smile.
His hands on her waist.
'I'll make you dinner if you'll make me breakfast.'
He remembers his nod.
And he smiles.
Turns off the oven
And walks back to the bedroom.
He holds a tray:
Scrambled eggs.
Waffles and sausages.
Two mugs of Irish Breakfast.
He sets it all down on the desk and he sits on the bed.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
He kisses her nose.
And then her rosy cheeks.
He kisses her eyelids and buries his nose in her hair.
She opens her eyes and flashes a smile.
Lazy, almost feline she stretches.
Sits up in bed.
Yawns.
'Morning.'
He could wake up to this every day.
He hands her a mug of tea
And she smiles again.
' 'Morning.'