Upon Waking

How do your eyes catch me those sleepy wee hours I stir you as a watercolor caricature picking through our dismembered socks, and shirts that still linger with the taste of your cologne where my cup wobbles slopping joe, revealing my true name (gentle lady) in the thinly veined blue white graphics. As you feign sleep wrapped in a half hazard bundle mount cotton - your hand caught across my pillow, a furry leg there, and washed by the impending dawn headlights of this approaching Monday morning there is a moment, where the loss of my words paint themselves across the golden rod walls in three question marks. (I Love You)