It’s six am and I want to be lying next to you
With our hands locked together
And legs intertwined.
I want your face buried in my neck
And I want to listen to you breathing.
I want you to wake up and tell me
“I’m so tired”
Because I want to whisper
“go back to sleep”
And I want to hold you tighter when you do.
I want to lie in bed alone with you
In the comforting quiet of the early morning hours
And maybe read a book while you sleep.
I want to be simple with you.
And I want to be whatever you need me to be.
We were the perfect game to play, now we both lost.
I fell in love with the morning, how you stumbled out of bed when you first woke up
And how your eyes groaned with exhaustion.
The way your hand grasped my hipbones while your lips
Stole the ending of my sentences.
Every day with you felt like a month of Sunday mornings
with dark bed sheets and lazy smiles.
That same morning I fell in love with the coffee shop down the street, and the way you asked for two sugars,
but you actually meant three.
The walk home from your house made me remember what Monday mornings feel like.
Somewhere in between falling in love with our midnight conversations
that were exhaled and interrupted by deep breaths and tea stains,
reading the love notes you had written on my flesh,
I realised I am in love with the presence of your words,
And the feel of your existence.
But I am not in love with you.