The moon eats away the golden tide of dawn,
strongly held the light shreaks and squirms in thin lines to greet the day.
I awake to his face.
Molded with delicate clay into a figure too complex.
His eyebrows gripped with worry,
his lips in a form of distress.
The wind taps the window and he gracefully opens his eyes.
"Good morning, beautiful"
And I speechless in reply.