4; IN THE MORNING
I love the way you smell in the morning.
Sweet meadow at sunrise, dewy and fresh.
Eucalyptus trees under a blanket of stars.
And it’s the best.
Wrap you tight 'round your center.
Puzzle-piece yours to mine.
Don’t quite fit but it’s fine.
I’ll show myself out,
use the back door when it’s time;
I swear it.
But we’re not there yet.
Hair a tussled mess.
And with sand still in your eye,
you roll over and cry: