I wake in the morning

much earlier than she does.

push my back

up the headboard

and sit in quiet

dark, watching our sunrise

as it filters through curtains,

distilling the air

like yellow teabags

diffusing in hot cups 

of water. 

to wake up boiling

with love’s heat

is to wake the perfect 

temperature.

and a gentle breathing

broken by occasional 

snorts.

these sweet 

weekend mornings

can make the weeks worthwhile;

a hand

relaxing

in a fur-lined

glove, a hot cup of 

sweet tea,

with skin

next to you

hot and available

like red

and burning

silk.