As I wake in my sheets,
Aggravated anxiety.
Blue light peeks, reminding me of my impropriety
Of the night before.
Like the melted ice throne in the last layer of fire,
My thoughts agonize.
I became the prosecutor when I was the prosecuted liar.
These ordinary overcast mornings
Are my favorite to step in to.
The city smells ripe,
And I think of it with you.
But I will go to trace my patterns
Worn into my body.
Another weekday in which I tread.
Reading messages unread,
Apprehending what’s next.
Life doesn’t need explanation,
Only bread.
But I will stop to worry those worries
Worn into my body
And only hope there may come a palm to press into my spine
With a touch so fine to entwine
A belonging, a needing, into my mind.