azure eyes with tinges of grey
worn from a dance with the night
hair wild, could be wind-swept

but no, only bed-swept
through the tossing and turning
her hair strangles and tangles itself

the sun does not wait for her to wake
she waits for the sun, achingly
as the dark slowly devolves to light

knowingly the pattern repeats and continues on
the familiar sequence brings a sick sort of comfort
she needs something to smile about anyway,

"and it's always nice to see the sun rise."