Chipped Porcelain

Wet air crushing
down on top
of me
humid French Quarter
bedroom loose white
sheets
thin pillows your
poetry perfectly
buried deep
inside me
where the waves
rush over in
cool smooth rhythms
jazz clinging on
skin shining out
warm wet liberation behind
floor to ceiling
windows bringing
balcony breezes bringing
chipped porcelain coffee cups
sounds of 
morning
our beginnings.

Nikki Lockhart