xiner

We have never seen a dawn that has not died within an hour. But here's one now, and, unsure if it has lied or not, I check your eyes: The sun's still struggling to get inside, the small bright spots of fingertips tugging lightly at your lids. And I, from a family of cowards, am hesitant to wake you, though not so much as to stop my lowered hand from moving upwards, stilling only when you start to stir and stretch; and then exhale in a way that makes me flush, then pale, as I, too, drift back to sleep, to wait until the midday sun has come and gone and left us one. The moon is out and so are we, sitting, nestled in the bu