she tells me she wants to be a baker
I taste her cakes – she does not lie
her dream is to open a shop
delighting sweet-seekers of the city
I imagine waking up to the smell of baking
reading over pages in the sun room
she walks in with a tray of fresh goods
a kiss on the cheek
how’s the book coming, sweetie?
here, try these
she tells me she is an artist
asks me if I could write books
which she could illustrate
well gosh, why not?
I imagine rising late in the day in our studio
we paint our naked bodies by hand
and roll over blank canvases
she takes a brush and finishes the piece
as I watch her and scribble down poetry
and we fall asleep making love
