Mornings with you are unreal,
vintage lighting streaming past the blinds, birds adding their music to the tones of gentle breathing.
Soft consciousness, gentle holding.
Silence. Warmth. Light.
My poems to you are halting, but fluid.
Shy, and passionate.
You’re eyes are so beatiful I could cry.
Because in the mornings you take me away from where we are,
and show me how things could be..