In the vague tones of morning,
before I find the weight of the day;
I lay.
Lay and watch.
She kneels on a lamb skin,
doing her make up,
in a mirror
perched on the end
of the bed.
I pretend to sleep
so that she doesn't realize
that I am watching her;
she's more beautiful in voyeurism.
In those moments
I am calm and she is beautiful,
The finality of slumber
the pregnancy of morning
the vastness of that mirror
sit together for breakfast
in my small dusty room.