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Unexpected Gifts
It's in the little things,
making out on the couch like teens
after twelve years of marriage
till my lips feel collagen full
and I am satiated by you.
Or the great - skate present
the pleasing tingle that you know me
get me
and still love me for all my quirks and foibles.
Actually love me more for them.
It's the silence of my closet where I write
as the faint echo of boy's laughing seeps through the walls
an eeked murmur through the drywall that doesn't
disturb the writing you are letting me do.
Distracting our sons. Playing with them.
I love the little things, they pile up, higher
than King Midas' vault of coins.
My shiny, golden moments of pure bliss.