Awake in limbo,

finding solace in a chrysalis of quilts and sheets,

a chill slinks under the door,

and curls up next to me 

like you once did. 


          The few moments before

                                             I must rise before the sun,

                                    I long to lay here

                 and drift back into

        troubled dreams

and even breaths. 


Yet you are the December morning,

the icy fingers 

that brush against my cheek

that assure me,

inspire me,

to rise.


With a shiver 

and tentative toes

seeking solid ground,

goosebumps ripple

across bare skin,

just as they did 

when warm kisses 

lifted me 

from slumber



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