Not a morning person

you were only half awake
a sweet fart creeping from beneath the covers
ripe dream funk sighing through your pores
liquor’s laziness still on your breath
the milk of morning webbing the inside of your mouth

mumbling
something faint and restless
a string of air disappearing in word-thoughts
lost in the effort to speak them consciously
while trying to pull a dream out by its tail

only dreams can't be held
just lived

you were only half awake
my wet hand attaching itself to your shoulder, pushing
back and forth until you turned, moaning in protest
your back peeling off the bed, in my face
curling back into the darkness to find your way back
and away from the rude light of day

the birds had already found your ears
the effort of your breathing had already made you self aware
and as affectionate as my touch was, it irritated you
a broken stick prodding you mercilessly
with an angry resignation you opened your eyes

you despised the room’s familiarity
and fought to climb out of the twisted madness of your bed clothing
feeling the rhythm of my reverberations
as I smiled and laughed quietly at your pitiful comedy

only after you had half managed to free yourself
did you reluctantly whine for help, awkwardly on the floor
warm and sweaty, feet tangled in the sheets
caught in the aftermath of your midnight turmoil

I loved you because it was silly to me
For you to act like this at 11:58am on Saturday