slumped awake
on the bed
reeking of familiarity
i turn and touch my lips
to your neck
and whisper good morning.
A well-worn gesture
that at times was a coyful invitation
a smug little sign of self confidence
a prayer for luck and thanks
a silent plea for much-honeyed yesterdays
a sought-out consolation
a small sign of conciliation.
Now
too habitual to stop
too fragile to know it won’t be missed
bleary eyed and heavy limbed
and yet another day awaits
another day awaits
another day knowing there’s not time enough to say
what all has not been said.
Licking back the blood gathering at my parch-ed lips
making uneasy peace with
the fishbone in my throat.
intotheindigo 