MORNING COFFEE

My sweet nectar
lies warm and wrapped
between duvets and dreams
- sprawled –
naked, 

it’s cold
and he’s unaware.

The first hour is hazy,
dusky/damp.
Dew rolls down the window,
a fleeting moment
made by respired delusions

hairs curl.
They’re soggy from his body
and a few have wavered at the root
littering my pillow,
the bed,
the fitted sheet.
It’s crumpled,
taut -
like skin
it smells of you

-

my coffee steams
racing my breath.
It’s quiet right now
and the world feels still, 

silent.