The daily treat for which I feel no guilt: At 3:14, a tryst beneath my quilt. For twenty-precious-minutes I am free from life’s turgid and stagnant drudgery. But no! A sudden interruption My precious nap suffers a corruption Breaking the learn’d rhythm of my day My love, “got time for a quick hug?” you say. Your speech so free, your syllables misplaced I don’t mind, the poetry of your face Speaks more volumes for I am smitten I no longer feel the need to fit in. So you snuggle and you squeeze giving me quick relief  from the promise of slumber once held. In the boudoir, we are now calmer Your embrace turn’d to Nox-ian escape With each inhale you snort a nasal wail Then, in my face, exudes your Yogurt Breath. An initial tang of acidity Followed by a bouquet of acridity:  Mixed berries (blacked and rasped). So with sleep now out of grasp As you snore, I mentally explore how you’ve been improving my pallette  And how we you will spend a while Scanning every wine in the wine aisle judging the rating of every claret. Of course it’s a “no” if the app scores under 4.0. But the sun is setting, the shop now closing  Your phone’s perennial 7 percent Is sadly now entirely spent And we have no wine to show for the ordeal. 3:25, still 9 minutes to go Still penning my sonnet one-three-zero Still you, and despite your lack of movement My heart races over things, perhaps, it shouldn’t With all the romance tropes in history Why is it the one with most authenticity Is the one that tarnishes love’s splendour And reveals with depressing candour That Hollywood lies and books ring false? To recognise love is to recognise fault. To see you gross and your constant fussing your quirks annoying, your habits disgusting Is the reality of any LTR Both the darkness of night and the shining star. And yet, the 16 minutes spent in bed has stilled the solitude inside my head Within these last 4 minutes I delight In knowing that there’s more coming tonight And for never ending morrows more (despite you being a horticultural bore). So as Alexa begins her alarming Finally I feel like a Prince Charming Of a happily-ever-after I would be bereft If it weren’t for you, my darling Yoghurt Breath. 01/19/[[2021]] #love #relationships