A Love Poem

Two toothbrushes

intertwined in their holder,

brushes and handles


around each other,

(tips resting in last night’s

dirty water)

like birds of paradise,

waiting in their bucket

for the inevitable bouquet,

like patient flamingos

balancing one-footed,


in the shallows,


the Queen’s croquet,

like me and you,

early Sunday morning

cheeks pressed together,

arms and fingers woven,

legs layered,

and feet tangled

in last night’s blankets,

dreaming in unison

for a couple more minutes

until it gets

too hot

to sleep.