Saturday Morning
I awake one early morning, mid-December
The window ledge traced with snow
The curtains are pulled back
Letting in the light
I squint and turn over, you’re not there
Your slippers are gone
With one eye I look at my phone, 06:43am
Where could you be?
The wooden floors creak as I walk down the hall
I’ve taken the duvet with me,
This cocoon of inquisitive tiredness
Pushing open the living room door
I find you stood in your red dressing gown
Blonde hair standing up to its max
But your eyes alight
Guitar wrapped around your torso
Tapping your foot as you sing of love
I silently waddle over to the couch
And fall face first on it
You look round and smile
I return one with a yawn
You continue to play
I drift back to sleep
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