Mild light. Awake. Soft, warm spot against core.
Hummingbird peeking at me, bed head exposed in pallid dusty day light.
Breathing patterns do not always have to match: romantics beg to differ.

I understand it is my poor health and the years of smoking
I understand you never had that.

Electric blanket machine on 8
will your eyes be emeralds today?
Red wood bark four days straight.

At the risk of looking foolish I undress anyway
She left her clothes off the whole night through and never shivered once in February.
Taking breaths that feel worthy all over again.