there there blurred morning
pouring too soon through
that sliver of window
and onto the mussed bed

hush please whisper

my night eyes north stars for you
now ink an early face
your mouth so soft, bruised
and pressed upon

murmurs to my neck

we knocked the stemmed glasses
from the table’s edge
you sweep up the shards
from the floor, laughing

we need no words

in the light, you are my intoxication
you the spinning room
the rose d’anjou
on my lips

now drink me again

‍