in the fourth hour
of the early morning
my wakefulness
is met with your sleepy stillness
your lips, puffy and pink
dimly illuminated by the
lights of the city,
creeping through our window,
unapologetic.
your eyes create crescent moons
your cheeks, gentle mountains
your unkempt hair
spilling over your pillow
wild and free
you are a work of art
i extend my hand to meet your face
allowing myself to indulge in
the warmth of you
stroking your cheeks
running my fingers through your hair
in your ambit,
the passage of time
is no affliction
it is a gift. it is heaven. it is everything. there couldn’t possibly be enough, time.
enough time.
enough time for you, for me, for us
enough time.
to touch your face,
to watch you as you sleep,
to hold your shaking hands,
to miss you even when you’re not far
to call you on a long drive
to sit together in the stale cool air of autumn
to sit together
in pain
in laughter
in sorrow
in joy
in uncertainty
in forgiving
in understanding
in love.
Feb 11, 2024
Feb 11, 2024 at 8:41 AM UTC
in the fourth hour
of the early morning
my wakefulness
is met with your sleepy stillness
your lips, puffy and pink
dimly illuminated by the
lights of the city,
creeping through our window,
unapologetic.
your eyes create crescent moons
your cheeks, gentle mountains
your unkempt hair
spilling over your pillow
wild and free
you are a work of art
i extend my hand to meet your face
allowing myself to indulge in
the warmth of you
stroking your cheeks
running my fingers through your hair
in your ambit,
the passage of time
is no affliction
it is a gift. it is heaven. it is everything. there couldn’t possibly be enough, time.
enough time.
enough time for you, for me, for us
enough time.
to touch your face,
to watch you as you sleep,
to hold your shaking hands,
to miss you even when you’re not far
to call you on a long drive
to sit together in the stale cool air of autumn
to sit together
in pain
in laughter
in sorrow
in joy
in uncertainty
in forgiving
in understanding
in love.
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