Sunday Afternoon

We lay in bed with our clothes
strewn from the night before.
The dust in the air is exposed
by the morning light just before it
hits the hardwood floor.

As you close your eyes to sleep,
you wrap your arms around my waist
and kiss the middle of by back,
forgetting how it tastes.

The radiator, with its twenty coats of paint,
is still no longer giving off heat,
and the windows are frosty, another reason
to stay under the sheets.

I put my hands over yours
as you pull my waist into you.
We lay in bed till the middle
of the late afternoon.