Morning's light turns sleep to sight,
As her black curls rest gently in the bend of my arm.
The taste of liquor stains my sigh of contentment,
As the needle skips softly across its worn vinyl path.
Its subtle gritting dance,
No longer emitting the tunes of lyrical geniuses.
As I close my eyes once more,
I can hear the songs from the twilight hours of yesterday,
A soundtrack to strained breaths,
And delicate fingers on my chest.
Their voices stitching together our two beings,
Like the seamstress who sewed the mountain of sheets that contain us.
What cosmic titan bestowed upon them
The ability to embody life's purity?
My thoughts quickly disperse,
As her deep exhale warmly blankets the skin around my neck.
I dare not continue my inquiry in fear that she may wake,
And morning's ecstasy will fall victim to the day's agenda.
~~ From J.G.