I Woke up with the words of this poem whispering on my lips, It was a cold January morning within the pomegranate trees.
The storm had passed two days now.
There was a forecast of Screaming with chance of tears.
The Clouds had been Clumped together.
They had appeared compressed and so close that Less light reflected upon them.
what revealed to be a visible mass had in actuality divided and turned black, stricken with lightning.

So early this
Sunday morning.
Birds are singing.
Big church bells
I hear ringing.
My bed feels so cozy.
Pull my blanket over
my shoulder.
Turn around before
I get colder.
Love this slowy waking up.
Drink my coffee while
it's nice and hot.
The sun is shining through
my window.
Shines and give my skin
such a warm glow.
Time will pass along the way.
Wishing you all a sunny Sunday.

When something perturbs me to such a point
I have to step back and take the whiff of realization
The opposite of one that ***** smokers take
The puff of fresh air
The one that heals instead of one that stays stagnant
And become the mouthpiece of optimism
Because God could of put me somewhere far more hellish than this

I’m thankful for the way you look
In bed after you rise.
You blink like you’ve just been reborn
Then reach and rub your eyes.

I’m thankful for the smile that grows
Across your glowing face.
It rouses me like morning should
With ease and heat and grace.

I’m thankful for your sleepy hands
That slip between my thighs.
“Good morning” pours from woken lips,
Your cheer a ripe surprise.

I’m thankful for your body there,
The way it takes up space,
But opens up to bring me in,
A deep sunrise embrace.

i dreamed of a blanket
a park
sunlight dappled your face.
i dreamed of me and you
sharing the same space.
i dreamed of leaning in
a sweet second kiss
and laughing and turning
to the children i'd wished
i dreamed of touching the stubble
the glasses
and say
i love you
i love.. you
but i  woke up
and the dream faded away

Fleeting dreams broke away
at the stark knocking
of harsh light on my temples.
I grasp for them as they float upwards
like balloons on wind,
strings swirling just out of reach.
Farewell dream.
I will watch you ascend
from the rumpled landscape
of my mattress.
A memory I can't quite remember
but am endeared to.
No alarms are necessary here
besides the universe
beckoning for acknowledgment
of its emblazoned display.
The birds delight
at their chatter
beneath my window.
Oh, they have so much to say.
Quarrel or song?
A beautiful, contemplative banter
that waltzes up past windowsills.
I smile and hum along
for the morning greets me,
reluctant as I am to answer it.
The dust dances in the rays of sunlight
streaming through gauzy layers of rippled fabric
clinging to my window frame.
Such a shame that I should
seek to bar the sun from creeping in
and setting upon my sleeping self.