Come into my kitchen;
pour a glass of wine,
and stand near
(perhaps…) shoulder to shoulder
over a steamy sink of dishes; yes?

Or sit
nearby at the counter,
while leftovers get boxed and
the stovetop is wiped clean.

Share secret dreams,
put on Sinatra,
and invite me –
with a damp dish towel over one arm
and your hand on my waist
to dance and kiss
while the frig and Frank hum quietly.

We will wonder together:
how can life be boring – when there is warmth,
music, dirty dishes
and love?