Morning

With ease you smile back at me.Slowly you stare out that big bay window. Your dress is curled up on the Wooden floor like a sundried tomato On some kind of Ciabatta, Like the café served the first day we met. The air is salty and my throat is dry. Empty martini glasses on the dresser Can’t quench my thirst. The light flows into the room lazily. It has been here before And will come again. It feels no need to rush. So you and I don’t either. We just let it caress us In these slightly strewn about sheets.

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