half-feigning a convenient drowsiness,
half-closed eyes and half words shot at
a bedroom wall illuminated by early sunshine,
and it happens to be quite bright.

happened again, redoing, recurring,
an ordinary oration, a silent sermon
the same words again, a slightly different version
every morning, inside out in eversion

the wrong things again, waking up
getting out of bed, out of my head, growing up,
getting old, aging fast, coming to terms with the fact that
one’s life is only as long as one’s past

all this future-talk’s got it feeling a lot longer
And vacancy is at least not my mistake
Filling in a bubble blindly of multiple choices
Splaying multiple regrets for something’s sake.

I will wake up and grow up
But if childhood is living in the sun’s light
then what’s staying up all night to watch its rise?

Before the finch sings or the rooster crows,
before eyelids raise or the sunrise glows,
before the sky transforms from midnight blue,
I’ve already begun my thoughts of you.

Before the alarm’s ring has hit my ears,
before the fog of sleep in my head clears,
before the grass is soaked with morning dew,
the day has started with my thoughts of you.

Before I extricate myself from dreams,
before the birds bathe in the dawn’s sunbeams,
before the coffee calls for me to brew,
my heart and soul begin to call for you.

Before I can arise from where I lay,
before everything that starts my day,
before anything else I have to do,
my day’s begun with loving thoughts of you.

Quivering, my hands try to hold
the thing most beyond man’s control.
My bloodshot eyes cannot behold
the weariness I can’t console.

My achy bones refuse to move
to encounter the vague unseen,
to meet what latent dreams disprove
in the fog of the in between.

I’ve not adjusted to the light.
I tried but my eyes weren’t prepared.
I want the end to be in sight—
the insight of which I am scared.

When will at last I be awake?
Is this the day I understand?
I stumble out into daybreak
to hold the future in my hand.

I watch as you stir
beneath the covers - they are not silk
like you deserve,
yet you wake stretching
and smiling a crooked smile.
And like the deity you are,
you clamour through the kitchen
for a cup of tea
and sit atop a desk
where you speak with the sun
through glances alone.

I like to believe that you are
looking for something
in that red glare of morning
-hope, perhaps love.
And yet, I love you so:
I love the way you unfurl
the pages of a book
like moth's wings
-I love that you know
where all the lost things go
and your habit of brewing a second cup
for breakfast when you laugh
around bites of buttered toast.

I love you most in those moments
when you seem
to hold all of time in your hands.
Before the day begins,
when you are most yourself
-and at your most wonderful.

I arose slowly like the morning sun,
Consciousness begun as a bit of light,
To a place where the day and I are one,
Leaving behind the discontent of night.

The sun must have so much love for the dawn,
For the kisses given its sun-kissed rays,
Relieved the false light of the moon is gone,
Dream kisses pale in light of those by days.

The sun each morn smiles as its loves renew,
Warming dreams gone cold under moonlit air,
To dream of soulmates under midnight blue,
A poor substitute for you being there.

The best of dreams are gone without a trace,
When in the morn I wake to see your face.