Early light
The early light,
like milk-fed ice,
slowly fills the room,
where all my dreams still smell of you.
My first smile and my hungry eyes
now look for some bright shadow
that the night has left behind:
something - some reminder of your flesh.
The winter morning curls itself
around my bed and like some sleepy cat,
with white fur sparkling and
with cold, cruel, sapphire breath,
it purrs and now it’s all
a pretty please, now feed me, please.
I lean into this early light.
I stroke the cat and think of you.