Morning Song

It was a weary night for you:
the virus lurks out there,
chaos rules the news.
You worried as I snored.

Now we cuddle, murmuring
of little things and large
as our bedroom ripens with the dawn.
Your cheek is soft beneath my thumb.

Mimi's perched on the dresser:
unblinking yellow eyes,
tail curled around. I'm undone
by the roundness of your shoulder.

And by the line drawn lovely down your back
into the hollow that exactly fits my palm.
Your breath is slower now, your belly
rises into mine, then falls to rise again.

Nothing lasts, of course.
Not this, not us, not anything.
Still, here we are.
Mimi’s purring in her way,
and we in ours.