Breakfast in Bed

A Tangle of Weeds

The morning smells like cinnamon
or is it the musk of your swollen love?
I can’t tell
I’m blinded by the lights
of ambrosia streaming in
through your dense eyelashes
so close to my lips
I can almost taste eternity
in you.

I remember going to bed
tired and forlorn
I thought I heard screaming
inside my head
there were monsters
under my bed playing
hide and seek with my sanity
provoking me through the night
to join in their revelry.

At some point,
I must have at last succumbed
to deep slumber
I didn’t hear at all
the pitter patter
of the raindrops on my thin tin roof.
The only way
I could tell it had rained
was when you
came to my bed
with a soaking smile
and the warmest eyes
holding the promise of
a cloudless day today.

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