white kitchen table and a radio on a shelf
the open newspaper gives the order of the day:
today we think about chlamydia, black death, and tuberculosis
we lift the coffee cups to delicate lips
snow falls heavy in the stillness outside
the backs of our hands are decorated with faint freckles
the sun touched us a few times
we love you day, we love you morning moment
thank you for allowing us to wake up
a young man died in Hollywood last night
we close the paper and turn on the radio
if Eros himself came here he’d feel faint
at the sight of such well-groomed hands
and send us lovers forthwith
but his majesty has never visited Iceland
we drink the coffee