Lazy Mornings

There's nothing particular he's looking for. 

Just a warm stove in the morning for his coffee when he gets out of bed in a house built for one.

And when she visits, there is nothing better than the morning as they wake, ignoring time and eventually heading out for breakfast, hours into the day. 

How nice it is, moving into the sun and treating lunchtime as if the day has only just begun while everyone else trudges through their fourth hour of work and their sixth hour since waking.

A breakfast big enough to send them both back to sleep for the afternoon makes menacing eye contact with them. The dusted chocolate once atop her coffee now rests atop her lip. 

She knows it, he knows it.

The barista watching on as he steams milk knows it.