Times like these don't come round too often
When you sit on the edge of the bed in your nightgown
Twisting your hair through silky fingers
Your legs folded to one side, endless
To the floorboards
The bedside lamp just doing enough
To throw itself across the room
And kiss your white exposed knees
The crumpled sheets still twisting and writhing
To claw you back to their folds
The mirror in front of you, trapped
Barely able to contain itself
The dawn squeezing itself through the curtain linings
Chased by the angels
To get the first look at you.
I smile
At the genius in me
For rising before you.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Times like these don't come round too often
When you sit on the edge of the bed in your nightgown
Twisting your hair through silky fingers
Your legs folded to one side, endless
To the floorboards
The bedside lamp just doing enough
To throw itself across the room
And kiss your white exposed knees
The crumpled sheets still twisting and writhing
To claw you back to their folds
The mirror in front of you, trapped
Barely able to contain itself
The dawn squeezing itself through the curtain linings
Chased by the angels
To get the first look at you.
I smile
At the genius in me
For rising before you.
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