National Poetry Month: Poetry 6
In that twilight between darkness and the dawn of the day, I stir feeling your presence trying not to wake me.
Stretching against the silk sheets, my hands search for yours, wanting to feel you, to find you, to say our good morning.
The birds sing their song, bracing us that light will soon break.
While I dream, you work through the night. Tired eyes and determination keep you going.
When I wake, you are ready to lie your head down and slumber while the ungodly sun attempts to pry your eyes open with its persistence.
So I reach for your rough hand, needing to hold it in my own for these moments we are allowed each other.
Needing to feel your sinew stretch,
needing to listen to your heavy heady exhale while I stroke up your arm, needing to just bask in the darkness that is both our dusk and the dawn of our days.
Good morning my love, I mumble.
Good night my friend, you sigh.
And we begin our dance of squaring up our nights and embracing our days.