a poem I wrote a fifteen months ago.

This poem was written when Mark and I lived across states, before we were even engaged.  These daydreams have actualized, except there are wild trees, rather than hills now, outside the window.

Most poems I've written lack a title.

I wake up to you 

(you wake up 

four hours south)

and my unopened eyes relish the glow

of the rising sun on your butterscotch face

(and closed blinds stack lightlines

on the wall)

Leaning upon my vanilla forearm I

kiss your temple

warm and wispy my butterfly lips

stir and you open your eyes,

azure, as the mountain sky

above organic hills outside of

my window.