Morning

Posted: September 13, 2013 in Poetry

The smallest stir and a dream leaving
dovetails a crusty eye making a bid
for open freedom.
The ceiling meets vision a
slow recognition.
Morning, turn and I see you sleeping.
Watching the rise and fall
nearly silent to an untrained ear,
me I hear the cadence in your breathing.
Precious seconds pre waking,
taking in still and peaceful form.
Stir,a dream ending.
Touch, you are real.

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