Involuntary Man Slaughter

You started sleeping in the recliner again,
feet and arms crossed as you lie,
your chest rising and falling
as you catch a quickie nap.

I can tell you’re dreaming
’cause your forehead’s cutely crinkling
while your eyes are twitching slightly
in the sweetest sort of way.

Then the smallest naughty smile
starts curling up your lips
tempting me to wake you
with a tender coaxing kiss.

I ask you who is in your dreams,
and you’d better cross your fingers,
’cause you don’t want to cross me,
if I catch you in a lie.

I Feel a Searing Pain

I am frying
this one hamburger patty
alone in the pan.

Even with a crunching
of freshly ground pepper
and a slathering of ketchup
that is heal of my hand
thumping thick,
it bites.

Because I have piled on
layer upon layer
of onions in crisp white rings,
now taunting halos
of my self-proclaimed perfection.

You tried in vain to teach me,
with recipes and directions
how to cook and sizzle,
and just about everything else,
but I never seemed to learn.

This simple hamburger
could taste even more delicious
if I could just kiss you again,
sucking the mustard
off your mustache,
so spicy and brown
and hold those buns
just one more time.

But I let you leave me.
Fried.

Wringing Warm

Your hands
press the towel
radiating heat
from the dryer
against your face
the warmth drenching
your spongy cheeks
tipping your head back
dripping sighs
of saturating comfort
allowing you
to absorb it all.

Then come to me
when you’re hot enough
for the two of us
to wrap ourselves
in the cuddling warmth
that only you can radiate.

Set the dial to TUMBLE.

One Man Crew

He has a job to do.

Tools, wood, nails, and dirt
are a part of who he is
with the end of his labors
caught up in sweat and beer.

His superior workmanship,
as the evening shadows lengthen,
joins his skill for mending fences
with a layout of our plans.

His gentle roughness
presses on my skin
so I lean in closer,
our breath already building.

He has a job to do.