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