La Vie en Rose



I awoke to la vie en rose
through an open door.
The pillow is damp with her perfumed sweat
and I hear le vie en rose and a splash
as she raises one foot above the water,
and French slips between the English
smoother than the cloth across her breasts.
Quand il me prend dans ses bras.
When he holds me in his arms? 
The faucet interrupts to refresh and reheat my songbird
and she sinks to her chin, 
careful not to dip the happy towel 
who holds her hair off her freckle peppered white shoulders.
Il me dit des mots d’amour.
Words of love?
My song drowns in another splash
as she stands and all the pink in her 
rushes to her skin,
my la vie en rose.