Pensa/Mattina
eyes open;
glancing from behind my hair
(we play peek-a-boo)
I see you smile as
Fingertips trace the
curving path to hips
and back again.
Your
grazing lips tickle
(it makes my heart giggle and)
I lie resting in the
friendly, familiar comfort
of your arms.
patches of soft pink skin peak
through half-hazard blankets
daylight breaks in between
broken window blinds, brushes over our groggy
limb entangled awakening.
