Warm Sunday

In my handwriting

Folded around a cassette tape

Because it meant a curation

The level of detail, the attention

Paid to how I touch you

Coffee and beignets on china plates

Leave the powdered sugar on my fingers

If only we could eat

All our meals this way

You look so pretty

With my fingers

In your mouth

So listen

Wear the white dress

The lipstick that

Looks good on my chest

The flower in your hair

Don’t be late