quarantine mornings

that first moment in the morning when consciousness rises

and fingertips drum themselves awake

and the world is still quiet

except for the bird calls coming from

somewhere out of view

it’s cold so you stay in bed,  warm under the covers

perhaps with just a limb or two exposed for optimal comfort

time becomes irrelevant

when there’s nowhere to go and no one to be

so stay put and soak

in all of the bliss.


Categories Creative Writing, Poetry, ProseTags , , , , ,

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