Habit

At four in the morning
I slipped out of bed
since my farmer genes
programed my eyes
to snap open.

With slow
and careful motions
I pull the dresser drawer
and remove clothes
to wear.

I stand at the door
of your bedroom
and take in the innocence
of you under the covers
with one foot sticking out.

Two of my fingers pass a kiss
from my lips to your cheek
and I turn to go
even though we sold off
the dairy cows last year.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

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