On Waking Early

Published January 3, 2014 by April Fox

In this time of
tiny creatures
hands like
pale spider legs
trapped in amber, I find my
breath is not
my own, my melted
has fused with his and there is one
screaming for
every inch the sun breaks in he holds on
mine,” he says
muddy-voiced with sleep

A year ago he marked his skin
with pastel colors
where I slept.

2 comments on “On Waking Early

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