Milk

I love grazing against a cat on a mat.
To hear the motor running,
it starts my own.

I love to be kissed awake by a buttery sun,
to lie still in the wait as it melts me.

I love the groove of my feet on the rocks,
caved in sand, and splashed awake.

I love to drink milk straight from the carton,
head tipped all the way back for the trickles.

I love to light candles at noon and shut off
the blinds, play pretend it is night.

I love to loosen the drapes afterwards
to view open spaces and sense the walk.

I love to see you seeing me and say okay,
let's, hopscoth our way thru - the motor is on.