under the patchwork quilt

no, it’s never been like the seven year itch, although
ticklish under the patchwork quilt… in the right spot
is sort of the same

together seven years has resembled a miracle
no malediction, like cracked mirrors
although seeing his face every morning behind me
close in the reflection of his strong arms
reminds me of hide and seek under the patchwork quilt

tomorrow I have only six gifts
I might find another, this year we’ll celebrate
seven nights in a row, last year six,
next year eight, and when the kids are grown
a full month of festivity
restaurant, movie, dancing, jazz club
ice skating cause it’s january
a day trip to the city on saturday
and spicy Mexican take-out closing
this newest love-fest on sunday, night number seven
celebrating as many years as we are united two-as-one

his last gift? an unwrapped surprise
that two will become six in another seven months
another heavenly wonder from under the patchwork quilt

fondling his mustache, he’ll tease
“Mabel, I count only six boxes
for you I have seven bright ribbons”
coyly, shyly, chinking our first toast
of this new year’s togetherness
I’ll cuddle closer, add in a husky voice
“do you need any other gift
than me whispering how much I love you?
if you’re sweet, you can unwrap me”

yes, later, under the patchwork quilt, not too much later
I’ll tell him where to look for at least
another seven years of happiness

under the patchwork quilt
[2009.24.1…b]
(34 lines)
          Part of the prompt was to use the word SEVEN seven times,
         placing it in bold.