Spending Time Near Her Face

On the porch during storms
in late afternoon
with electricity inspires poems
for mathematics and ants.
All those lines and symbols in order
of chaos. Marching.

Waking next to your pucker
is more stirring.
You look sweet and sour.
There must be a bug in your nose.
The cure for that twitch is soft kiss of cheeks
and smoothing night ruffled hair.
My breakfast of sliced pears with sorbet and candle
does not dim from streaming morn.
We share licorice end to end.

You don a pair of smiles, dimples
and all the trimmings.
Good morning my lover's, lovely face.