Seven in the morning
Has always been a difficult hour.
So many days started
With too little sleep,
Or too little motivation
To face the day ahead.

But that one beautiful memory,
Thirty two stories in the air,
Is enough to redeem seven am
For the rest of my life.

I can still picture it;
The blinds are slightly open,
And a a perfectly orange sunrise
Is spilling through the window.

The light shines straight across you,
Bathing you in celestial rays
As you sleep peacefully,
And the world is blissfully still.

I savour every second of that morning,
Committing it to memory
In the most vivid detail I can manage,
So I can remember it on nights like this.

Your alabaster skin,
Softer and smoother than anything,
Is resting just beside me,
With the sheet gently settled
Just below the top of your legs.

I watch as your back rises and falls,
Slowly and peacefully;
I’d never seen you sleep quite like that.

I study the curves, peaks and valleys
Of your body
Like some human topographer,
Wanting to ensure my mental map
Doesn’t have a single error
Or missing piece.

You turn your face towards me,
And I had never been so happy
To see you keep sleeping.

Your perfect lips are slightly pursed
Enhancing your natural volume and texture,
While that gorgeous shade of pink
Is complimented by the orange sunlight.

You are so beautiful.
I find myself thinking it often.
But that morning sits forever in my mind
As the most I’ve ever found myself
Transfixed in reverent bliss.

There are few perfect moments in life,
But that morning was one of them.
If life truly flashes before our eyes at death,
I want my last conscious moments
To be spent inside that memory.