Sunday Morning

The aftermath of revelry
calm and serene and
the darkness of your brown skin
contrasting with bright aqua
of our now shared sheets
so beautiful, I catch my breath
afraid somehow that
if I wake you, gently
touching the side of your cheek
the moment will burst,
pop like an opalescent bubble,
and all I want
is to savor it. So
I don’t wake you.
I let you sleep under my caress
and breathe in the deep joy
of a sleepy Sunday morning.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s