deepundergroundpoetry.com
Mornings
Listen to the whispers of trees
And gentle peeping of the sunrise
Through dancing curtains
Reaching our pillows.
I wake up
To the softness of your breath
Tickling my ear
Tickling my heart
Wiping sand off your eyes,
Cherishing the wrinkle of your nose
You smile at me
In the good of morning
And I know just who you are
When suddenly the room
Any room at all
Becomes home.
And gentle peeping of the sunrise
Through dancing curtains
Reaching our pillows.
I wake up
To the softness of your breath
Tickling my ear
Tickling my heart
Wiping sand off your eyes,
Cherishing the wrinkle of your nose
You smile at me
In the good of morning
And I know just who you are
When suddenly the room
Any room at all
Becomes home.
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