Returning

Returning

The laboring of the kitchen;

how the actions leave me tired.

Constant looks ahead to the next,

the new tasks awaiting trial.

I seek strengths I may not possess

to gab in poetic excess

on emotional connections

with this pen. The train lists aside

and thoughts lose out to heavy eyes.

This night holds poems kept repressed.

Aching arms and legs are all done.

I am returning home, loved one.

But soft, lightness of warmth and rest

enfold me as the door opens.

There she lay, under blankets dressed,

my love from now to ever then.

No poems will I write tonight,

just breeze and sheets till the sunlight.