I think about how waking up
is an identical routine
after a restless night of shifting
The comforter meets the floor, there is
a single sock wrapped somewhere in the sheets
hair is tangled for a reason unknown
and everything in the bed somehow became a mess
This is how it is, always

I think about how not wanting to get up
usually follows the waking and
falling back asleep always seems like
a better option than getting out of bed
to face the world
but I do anyway, we do
anyway

But I think it would be easier,
this rise to consciousness,
if you were the alarm clock calling to a new day, if
your body were to lay parallel to mine and
the tossing meant I could catch you every time you turned
It would be a privilege to know your morning breath

It would be a privilege to forget your presence in sleep and then
wake to find you next to me

It would be a privilege to be yours the way it is
to watch the sun rise everyday while
knowing it will always set in the evening
there is comfort in predictability,
there is beauty in monotony,
and calm in knowing what will happen
tomorrow