Morning


Will there ever be a morning where you wake up to
brows, messy and tossed around like thoughts,
slightly dry skin, eyes sprinkled with the grains of dreams past,
lips dry and rough, asking for a kiss?

Will there ever be a morning where you wake up to
legs entwined, bundled up in softness, hair tousled, fingers tangled,
every scar and crevice lit up by a new day,
arms thrown around this-a way and that-a way,
would you dare to look at me the same everyday?

Faceless lead male to every night's feature film,
will there ever be a morning where I wake up to
hearts thumping in unison,
chin dotted with bristly stubble,
light hitting every scar, crevice and pore,
a familiar, comfortable face?

Will there ever be mornings where
voices croak, a vile odor, so familiar, hits the senses,
eyes creak open, chambered minds leap over fences,
limbs unravel, and bodies start,
minds open, mornings. to become art.
My faceless male lead and I,
will seize each day and cherish each night.

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