You are an early morning craving, when I get woken up by the fog on the ground, the water hanging in the air, waiting to get pierced by sunlight and transformed into shadow on your west wall. First, I only see a blur of eyelash, a little prison for my dreams that keeps them tucked into the same warmth that I cuddle into under my blankets throughout the night. My skin is flush and kings and aces all down my thighs, but my toes are always cold. I hold my breath in my arms. The soft woven cloth of my bedspread lifts hairs on my arm while a draft makes its way up my lower back – there is a break in my fortress of down. I shuffle my hands and tug my shirt over the now-goose-bumped skin.
I watch the curve of my bed stand, the heaps of books, the spilled change, the hair clips and my phone playing the part of alarm clock. I am sideways and travelling right, which is to say, up. I try to hold in the soft moment of the silence, but there is a far away grinding of coffee a banging of pans a sizzling of eggs and a bubbling of porridge. I hear the smells dictate the rhythms, the decisions of the people outside of my closed door. If the tea is ready brewed, I’ll brush my teeth after. A flapping of wings with printed words as feathers. Teacup meets saucer. Murmur. Discussion. The cars change possession several times.
I rub my nose into a daffodil and then a daisy, feel my neck stretch into the cold air outside of my blanket. I can feel where the humid hotness of your breath would be. I can feel the coolness of your inhale synchronized to the transfer of your hands to my stomach, to help me cup the warmth in. Your eyes won’t open if they need to. I crave you like a cigarette I haven’t had a drag of for years – the right smoke that you pass by on the street and think about all day. The smoke that sticks to your thoughts, that I can smell in bars a town away.
You are the slightly buttery croissant that breaks on your tongue and the sweet bite of espresso that you breathe in as much as you sip. You are the almosttoohot water in the shower that washes away the shiver. You are the light, sharp, ohsodesirable kiss of the air when the ground hasn’t warmed yet to the sun, which makes me reach for wool. You are my morning craving.
So sate me.