Toast

Buttered toast
On Sundays mornings
Eggs sizzling in the pan
The scent of home wakes me up
To the warmth of down duvets
And the sheer pink of bed curtains
In our new apartment.
I bask in the sunbeams that
Reveal burnt sienna
Locks of hair
Sun-kissed and
Toasted with highlights.
The toaster steams
With the smell of fresh bread.
I think I like toast.