I look wistfully at my empty cup.
“More tea?” you ask, already knowing the answer,
lazy Sundays and second cups of tea
being a tradition of sorts.
You read, I write,
laying abed late, relaxing into the morning.
You stand and I read your body.
Your back is out again.
Not a lot, just enough to make your normally
straight stance a tad crooked.
“Back sore?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
You don’t admit to pain lightly.
“I’m alright” you answer.
I read you