ohio

i remember waking
in the dim dark dust 
to shove gently 
a bakers dozen of donuts 
onto the chilly marble coutnertop 
of your kitchen with that endless roof. 

when you wake, we'll eat them with orange juice. 

i fall asleep again on your big white couch. 

it's foggy outside, 
and it could very well be at any hour of the early dusk or early dawn 
in this twilight zone of lavender oxygenated memories 
and dripping windows with beige curtains so benign they could belong to any other rainy midwestern suburbia there ever was. 
but this ones yours 
so this ones mine. 

and its good.