Thursday, April 11, 2013

mornings

i often take cabs to you, rushing up six flights
barely touching each step and i 
wake up six times with you each day.

1.) we dance, roll back and forth like waves
following the riptide of each other's sleep-
i turn to the cold side of the bed and you
follow me. 
2.) i think someone touches someone's skin but we
remain still, sometime around seven. a bird sounds the alarm
in the distant, i move. your phone sounds the alarm in the foreground,
you move.
3.) and you are kissing my face and touching my stomach and i groan awake. 
4.) hands and shoulders touching walking past people who were
quiet in the morning and they didn't eat their laughing for breakfast and 
did not wake up to freckles or the smell of hairspray.
5.) we are on the subway and i am coffee and dreading my stop.
6.) i am home and you are at the office probably
shuffling papers and changing the lives of
girls and i think you might be my hero too. i talk of you how one talks of 
an idol. i am in reverence, i am your team, i am your biggest fan. i am home
writing poems about you.

you make ripples [inside me, inside the world]
you are very important [to me, to the world]

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