breakfast over bets

in his vision she wore her hair down
an over sized flannel shirt hid her model form

he awoke to the smell of corn bread and coffee
the sizzle of red vegetables from the stove top

alongside the slow cooked birth of an omelet
at 8am on a Wednesday morning in Pasadena

a beauty manifest in his kitchen unexpectedly
cooking him a desert king's breakfast

her dark skin seemed light by the color of her hair
her eyes fell sweetly on his despite her people's rage

"where'd you find that?" the only question
mustered out of suprise, "and how did you get in?"

he pointed at the french coffee press on the table
steeping full with a heavy, black columbian brew

"it was in the closet. it was in a vase box."
she spoke, carefully folding the omelet over in the pan

"when did you get here, how did you get in,
how did you even find my house and ..."

she raised a hand and a plate to him
"all these questions" she paused, he sat.

"there is something i came here for.
do you have something to tell me?" her neck seemed long

"yes" he avoided her gaze
she poured him a coffee

"are you going to tell me?"
"no" he replied, sure that this was still a dream

and further sure as the coffee he sipped
was the best he'd ever had

and faded up into waking life
alone in his big house

part 2

the real girl, the real affection
told him that she's in love with him

he had another dream.