when the milk light steals into my eyes—hey it’s grownups’ goodmorning
—I let your elbow go and then I pull it back again, soft metonymy (i
sometimes remember
when you’re awake, and abashed I keep it quiet
how you’re my favorite part
—of what?—not applicable, but this morning I remember
when your eyes are closed, and I let you feel how much I
feel you in my ribs when you’re all around me)

the punctuation of the days was always mine and I
couldn’t breathe as well without keeping the dark
for me just me
and still my eyelids weigh me down a little but
I don’t mind
hey goodmorning