our intimacy is as subtle as the mottled shade of shell colors

on a warm basket of cayenne scented boiled crabs

or, more likely, the faint hint of spearmint tea

silently seeping while your attention is turned

to spreading the beige soft of cashew butter across

the crisp of one slice of toasted sourdough

which innocently rests near the dark

of seeded unsugared strawberry jam freshly smeared

atop the face of the bread's twin -- quiet contentment

is morning within our colorful kitchen where we are

as gayly nude as the golden gleam of early light

streaming through our window diagonally impressing

a translucent tattoo onto both the half sphere of your breast

& the upraised arm of my hand reaching to caress

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