-Morning-

Birds sing.
Their chirping does not rouse
Gently
But abrasively
Because I want to be deep in dreams.

Your warmth only reaches
So far;
I have to make contact
To sate this
urge.

When our skins
Interact
It’s as if I feel you from the
Root first
To the tip.

You are so cold
In parts,
But our friction is like
The lightning strike

And our scents–
Emergent ozone.