Won't you come here love?
I want your lips pressed against mine;
I want you to be the
first sweet thing I taste.
The dose of caffeine
I desperately need upon the rising sun,
the jolt to get me through my day.
The one thing that proves to me;
I don't really need coffee.
-JRM

I never have to move very far
to find you wrapped up in
the white sheets of your king size bed
in the early hours of the morning

most of the time
I don't have to move at all;
I reach my hand out
and it's already laid across your chest,
moving vertically with every
deep sleeping breath you take.

if I happen to turn away from you
in the midst of dreaming at night,
I'll always awake to find you
draped over me
like a bear protecting its cub.

I'll open my eyes and yawn as
you stretch and sit up,
groggily mumbling with
your menthol voice about how
you're going to go make coffee
and that we should get up;
seconds later you lunge on me
and make me laugh until
I have no choice but to stay awake

because how could I ever possibly
go back to sleep knowing that
the man of my dreams is awake
on the other side of this fortress of
pillows and sheets and blankets?

I grab a cigarette for both of us and
you politely take the lighter from me,
just so I don't have to light my own.

we look out your window at
the sunrise on the lake,
and sit in comfortable silence as
the nictotine and caffeine sink
through our veins.


I roll over three times
in my own king size bed
to realize that
I'm not going to find you
twisted in the sheets beside me.

and what a lonely morning it is
to sit outside with
a cup of joe and a cigarette,
without having you
in the chair beside me anymore.

wouldn't it be nice to have that morning together one last time?

No;
It's not the rhythmic thuds of a headboard,
Nor squeaks of well christened springs,
Sighing the night's discretions.

It's the strained veins glazed over red eyes
Seeing the clock strike 4 am.
Flushed in a solitary blue.

She woke up
And she could feel
His chest
Rising and falling underneath her fingertips
And she thought
She'd fall back asleep
Over
And over
And over again.
Just to wake up
Draped in him
Over
And over
And over again.

Give me rest.
The kind of slumber
that toddlers protest during naptime
but succumb to with a stream of drool
on their rested faces;
the kind of slumber
that enables my grandmother
to nap in a rocking chair
with a book teetering on the edge of her lap,
the sort of sleep
that wakes me up
an hour before the morning trumpets blast;

give me that,

because I'm tired
of the sheets clutching on to me
like handcuffs
engraved on criminal wrists.

I saw your wrists in the Sky this morning,
Planes trailing white lines above my frosting breath.
They scarred the flawless blue expanse,
Marring it with imperfection.
Beautiful, wonderful, perfect imperfection.

I've made such efforts to forget,
to forget the sun soaked sheets in the early summer mornings

and of the way our eyes would meet after sweet symphonies of dreams divine.

Attempts To erase the savory smells of morning coffee, shared smiles and skylit kisses in the garden

Or of The warm sounds your feet made when they traversed the oak floors as if saying follow us we'll lead you to the light.

And they did, they led me to the sun, Where it kissed my skin and bones as if gracing me with an endless summer.

And Yet I still retrogress back to memories of the winter rain resting easy as it glistened on the soft pastel rose petals

So much like the way our eyes held passion in the beginning

And still I couldn't forget and cast away such an exquisite chapter filled with beauty passion and love

for those are the memories and experiences in which our true selves are forged. And I'm almost who I'm meant to be.