Poems · writing



Don’t tell me in the morning
The only reasons you lay
Were confined behind your subconsciousness
And the little act of jarred love
Was a broken inconvenience
Or perhaps a voice inside your head

Don’t tell me in the morning
‘You’re beautiful to me’
In your arms with our warm skins touching
I didn’t feel the need to adorn you
For your godly body
And I shouldn’t need to hear the same

Don’t show me in the morning
The way the night had passed
I want it to be a whisper etched in stone
Not an atonement under the light of dawn
The way this awkward suddenness is
Enchanting all by itself

Don’t make the morning disappear
In a haze of disguised appropriateness
I am over all that you see
Shamelessly belittling the things you’ve seen
Don’t whistle in the morning
Don’t call me in the morning
Let the slow sun rise in heat

Just come back when the fly-swatters are gone
And the day has filtered through
And the universe has time for me and you
And the stars make feeble attempts to light the sky
Don’t write me a sonnet
Just come back to me
Don’t dazzle me in the morning
Just be.


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