Typewriter Series #2674 by Tyler Knott GregsonWhen you lay...

Typewriter Series #2674 by Tyler Knott Gregson

When you lay across my chest,
draped as though I were furniture,
some old leather couch where some
father smoked some pipe and the sound
of the daily paper shuffling in upright
hands wafts up with the curls of
nicotine shining in the crack of light
where the curtains parted, biblical like
and constant for that time in the morning.  
Draped like a blanket at the foot of
some bed with some old cat lumping
the bottom as she snoozes under
the covers, perfectly unaware
to the sounds of stirring and wind gusts
carrying bird calls and something that
resembles scurrying.  
Draped like fog on some morning over
some valley when the dew on grass
blends with rainfall and mist and
sure as eggs is eggs our plates are
filled with something grown and
given by something that allows
the taking and has no idea of the
lives they’ll be fueling.
When you lay across my chest,
draped naked as though you’re home
and I’m the building that holds the
breakfast and old couch and curtains
and bed and some sleeping cat
at the foot of some bed softly made
and waiting for us.  

-Tyler Knott Gregson-