Gas stove ticks
smell roasted coffee
bury onion bulbs
in garden soil

holding fingers
wearing jackets
think of nothing
eat roast potatoes

black caramel crust
on a casserole dish
your hip tickled
by an apron string

step on leaves
a quiet Sunday
sharing stories
of being children

if tomorrow
they turn the earth
to a waste of glass
I will be sorry

But thanks to you
I had some time
I learnt to live
I got to love