There is more

to life than the taste of coffee
on his lips as they pull me from sleep

more than listening to the birds sing
their mating calls in their high pitched peeps

more than scooping vanilla soft serve
from my finger for my dog to share

more than the warm summer breeze
dancing its way through my hair

more than the book of love poems
I’ll read to him, and him to me

more than the sound of the whistling kettle
ready for our nightly tea

more than his lips back on mine
and mine pressing goodnight into his.

There is more to life than this
but forgive me if, today, I’ve forgotten what it is.