five a.m.

this depth of dark

could almost be night-

the suns about to crack

my sweet, my love

of the unfurrowed brow of

the dreamful sleep,

the world outside

is a hazy wilderness,

dew spattered frayed unwindings

of sunny summer string;

your warm face pillowpressed and

sleepdamp breeches

the waking surface

of the placid velvet waters, and

sinks back silently beneath them.

im a criminal

for even wanting to wake you.