there's nothing like crosswords on sunday morning
after waking late from a dream-filled saturday night
coffee in one hand
a pen in the other.
he sits cross-legged,
hunched over the bistro coffee table
eyeing the tiny lines criss-
crossing the corner of a page,
familiar as scars.
the sun shines through the kitchen windows
between the yellow curtain
his lover picked for his birthday last year
after they had argued over decorations
in their newly-found apartment.
he compromised the kitchen window
for the bedroom rug.
he crosses himself
believing tranquility to be found
in solitude, newspaper in hand.
yet,
what is a ten-letter word for being alone
on a day like this
after HE promised it won't happen
again
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