in the pitter patter of the morning
I can hear my happiness
does that make sense?

the harmony starts as I hear it in the echoes of his breath
ostinato, full and lazy like a cresting wave
and in the whispers of the day
I lay awake, hearing the legatos
knowing at some point I must rejoin the world

but for now
I listen
as crescendos of happiness crest over me
and his hands staccato for me
and as his kisses draw to cadence
he whispers 'good morning'
a symphony just for me