He is…

Awake before me

Whispers in my ear 

As he tucks me in tight

 

I feel his soft kiss

and his weight leave the bed

 

Wriggling with content 

I give myself again to dreaming

 

Transported to a place 

Where watching from the sidelines 

I see a majestic blonde

A hat, a strappy dress 

 

There are no brassy tones in her hair

Her teeth are straight and white 

And she moves with the ease 

Only a woman without attachment can have

 

Passively I watch

Waiting to pounce

Something in me is about to be proven right

And it is

 

I was magnetic when I didn’t care

or was it when I had nothing to lose?

 

I open my eyes and smell cigarettes

Oh yes, he’s awake

 

I brush my crooked teeth

and trample down stairs

The smell of toast, then coffee

On the halfway step

 

The table is set

My love is stirring porridge 

 

I’m greeted with a kiss

And buttered toast cut into little heart shapes

 

I sit with my dream

Now scolding it’s creator

For contaminating this romance

With subconscious mistrust 

 

I multitask

Swooning

Fighting the skeptic

Acceptance, please save me from

Ruining this moment

 

My love is an artist 

He paints with his heart

He is Van Gogh

And my mind is the knife 

Cutting his ear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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