Afterglow
The shallow pond ripples itself awake
Into the still un-eyed morning.
Nothing is unrolled yet; everything is waiting
To unfurl itself into a something.
You sleep weightily, waxily, entirely still.
Your painted lips are soft and full.
The pink marshmallow air is full
Of heat, thick and soft, prising you awake -
Although already, I can barely keep still,
Full of frenetic desire for you in the morning.
The bedroom is filled with something
Almost querulous, something waiting.
Bubble-chains fill the kettle; while I’m waiting
You pad noiselessly through the house, your eyes full
Of sleep and satisfaction, a dreamy something.
Your lips are swollen; on the edge of awake
Your gaze wanders off into the garden, as the morning
Uncurls itself, judders onto its tracks, falls still.
As the peppermint soft warmth rises, I am still
Peppered with visions from last night, waiting
For my imagination to wear itself out and arrive at morning.
You are remote and hazed; my eyes are full
Of you, all the wide eyes in my blood wide-awake
And drinking you in, watching for something.
Your voice is still unused, today; like something
Wrapped in brand-new cellophane. Still,
You stretch yourself like a lazy panther, awake
But not entirely present yet, waiting
For the day to turn itself on, lights bright and full,
Carrying you along on the unspiralling morning.
You are always slightly heavy in the morning,
Slightly weighed and slowed by a thick sleepy something
Wrapped around you still, an invisible quilt full
Of soft pink feathers. Your lips are still
Mint-flavoured when I kiss you, waiting
Before you kiss me back to prove that you’re awake.
I’m still heavily full of you, savouring this soft morning
Where dreams can’t rival awake; the pink air filled with something
Warm and sweet, thick and still; your sleepy lips still waiting.
