by 6:49 am
the first wisps of sunlight
are slipping hesitantly
through the blinds of my window
the songbirds are singing sweetly
and flitting about the demurely covered branches
of an apple tree
its pale pink blossoms are permeating the air
with their faint fragrance

by 6:49 am
wet rings have been imprinted
upon wooden tables
left by stained white mugs
refilled with dark coffee
by bleary-eyed baristas
of a cramped city cafe

but if i leaned over
and kissed your skin
just above your dreaming eyes
i'd have done the work of atlas
with the effort
of a down feather
drifting dreamily upon a whisper of a breeze

if you were by my side
at 6:49 am.