silent mornings
awake before the sun
we wrap our bodies around the other
until it gets hot enough that we begin to
peel off the covers
still we keep ourselves intertwined-
it’s a lazy, slow morning after all
and letting go is what
night is for.
weekend
breakfast
I eat words for breakfast.
words typed out on crisp, new pages
and those highlighted to remember
just how sweet they tasted
the first time they reached my mind’s lips;
words said, and
those not
and all the other ones that remain
suspended
with every passing day
as we push each other
further and further
apart.
Sundays
Stay in this bed
with me
Let me tangle my legs with yours, make of your body my drum, trace geographic patterns with my fingernails along your back, inhale the scent that lingers in between the beginning and the end of your neck
Let me write you some words
Let me taste your lips, your skin, your tongue
Let me learn the sound your breath makes when you’re lingering in the space between fast asleep and awake
Let me do what I do best
Let me love you
