Waking Up
Your eyes’ half open gaze,
your morning scent and groggy touch,
the subtle vibrations in your waking speech
opposes the dawn’s crisp breeze,
warming me.
Your survivalist nature
wrestles for the blankets
while you hold your ground
and more of mine than I’d care to admit.
The extraordinarily ordinary,
well, maybe to some.
All these things I’ve discovered
all these things I’ve not spoken,
are not things at all.
They are a reason, a vitality to me.
A purpose to laugh and to sing
out of tune - out of key,
to sigh and to breathe
be it heavy or easily,
to live and to love
openly with wide eyes to see.
All these things are not things at all.
They are my vitality,
my reason,
my purpose to be.
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