Dawn.* God, I still can't accept the fact
that it's almost morning, and you're
almost gone; you are only ever with me-
around me -when I close my tired eyes.
And then, during what feels like a
lifetime, we sleep so close together
we could be one body, one heap of
flesh under the warm and heavy covers.
But you're not here, and you're not
in my coffee when I get up either;
you're not outside when I open the
window; you're not alive when I
dial your number. At dawn I dislike
(re)discovering that you aren't real.
This is the first of a series of sonnets marking the different times of day. Yay/nay? Tell me what you think/what can be improved.
