“Insomnia No More”
Morning, Love, I sense you didn’t rest well last night
Let me remedy that and stretch your sleep,
I set your phone on off, the alarm’s disabled
Stay put beneath the comforter; to the kitchen I’ll creep
A special dark roast from hand-pressed coffee beans
Piping hot with a hint of real vanilla cream,
Your autumn java mug is warm and tray-ready
Your Pamper-Her-Friday imagination this may seem
Hallucination this isn’t, I’m no morning apparition
Let’s get to the root of your insomnia source,
You’ve gone without breakfast in bed seems ages
It’s time that I alter that dreary course
The saucepan I’ve filled with spring water, blue flame
I’ll stir the steaming liquid to a ferocious whirl,
Drop the seasoned egg whites in the storm’s eye
And into the sesame-oiled wok I’ll gently hurl
A potpourri of greenhouse-grown, local veggies
I made a daybreak farmer’s market run,
Poultry sausage basil-, thyme-, and rosemary-infused
Making it jump from the sizzling cylinder–what fun!
Ahh, you can smell it? Well, go run and tell it . . .
“Wow, Roy done gone Emeril Lagasse up in here!”
When a man cooks with a special love in his heart
There’s something about the woman he holds dear
You’d be surprised what a man might venture
He’s capable of going to the greatest of lengths,
History’s littered with Baracks desperately seeking Michelles
It’s just a matter of ironing out the kinks
Such as pulling back your steel emotional curtain
Just enough to take measure of my intent,
You’re afraid to fall into an alluring rapture
Oh, but you’re at total liberty to relent
Breakfast in bed is no second-base invitation
I’d be rather foolish to assume as much,
Will you consider it a warm autumn gesture?
And you must admit: My timing’s clutch
You didn’t sleep well last night, now did you?
I believe I’ve diagnosed your insomnia source,
An extended Pamper-Her-Friday morning sleep
I’ll bring your breakfast, a three-item course:
Autumn java, omelet jubilee . . . and me:
A forehead kiss to take with me on the road,
Sleep well, my Friday morning angel
I’ve got you, woman, in my autumn fold . . .
. . . where you belong.
Pamper the woman . . . in autumn. -Rg2
© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®