There are worse ways to wake up,
Than in the
Arms,
Mouth,
Heart
Of a lover,
While dippy love songs
Blare from an alarm clock
That has never before paid attention.

And sometimes
Just having someone
Appreciate my French Toast
Is enough to melt my heart.

Woe is me, I am growing into
A sap
Who writes poetry
For my Lover,
Rather than Angst-ridden verse
About never finding one.