some mornings are strange and still

a man and and a woman
in the morning. a
likable passion between the
pair tangles among the ends
of dark and light threads.

he's awake, she breathes deep.
his eyes on the ceiling, his
hand on her hip, her breathing
still deep.

This is swollen, and
skewed, they
lay in the round of a
dew drop.

a man and and a woman in
in the morning, in a bed.
he closes his eyes again, and
her breathing is deep.