You and I on a forever Tuesday morning
laying in bed with nowhere to go
And nothing we would really like to do.
A steaming bakers dozen of scones between us,
Enough for two maybe even enough for three.
But your greed has taken over the scene
You took the butter first,
then the strawberry jam,
then goes the clotted cream
And now you want all the scones.
Your stare ticking like the oven timer,
Your lips ready to break all your promises,
The smell of baking dough and fresh ginger,
All add up to more than I can handle.
But I am held captive and unwilling
to negotiate under the embrace
of your heavy arms.
So I lie there pinned…