My feet are suddenly in agony. The floor is freezing this morning, even through my thick socks. I hop on the kitchen chair with my sweatshirt on, and yours too. I pull my knees to my chest and wiggle my toes. You bring me a steaming cup of tea with milk.
“Honey?”
“No. Well yes, just you.” It’s an old pun, but we smile anyhow.
Holding onto our cups of tea, inhaling the steam, sitting next to each other. My toes are happy. And so are we.
Filed under: 100-Word, Poetry Tagged: food, honey, poem, romantic, toes, winter
