Love by the light of the fridge

The quiet murmuring of the river hides
the question which, in turn, is buried deep
within these kisses splashing off your lips.
No trolls under this bridge to stand beside
old houseboats and wait slowly for the night:
we draw these shadows to ourselves to keep
this trust from spilling over. Nearby streets
drench passing cars in silent amber light.
Next day, the hilltop sun catches us hand
in hand, fresh-faced, though pillow talk for hours
has etched some tiredness into our smiles.
And yet a different kind of glow bathes our assent:
leftover fruits, the early-morning shower,
an opening door, a dream… too short a while…

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