A woman without love wilts like a flower without sun - Le Fabuleux destin d'Amelie

Chrysalis

Even with the blinds,
the curtains,
and the bangs over my eyes,
the sun persists to wake me.
It spills over my bed, and
creeps past my exposed thigh.
You’re in a coma supported by drool,
fuck that’s my pillow.
my body forces into your duvet cocoon,
and even asleep you accept me
and give me warmth.

No clock in sight
it doesn’t matter where the arms are
or when we’ll hatch.
If ever.
The world is awake; busy and bored,
but we’re drunk off of sleep and
who’d want to trade?

Coffee is waiting impatiently,
if we choose to answer.
Another covenant of our mornings.
Or we can stay huddled in this pod,
sluggish and blissful, until the pot gets cold.