There are these mornings
when poetry wakes me up…
I feel how the light through the window
touches my pillow softly..
how the wrinkles of my blanket looks like a ocean of milk
and how, as my breath
falls slow, their waves on my body
fall and rise;
I can hear the water..!
maybe from a distinct memory..?
a good morning paints on this horizon warm
as the sun melts on the queen sized bed;
I turn to my windows and see
my curtains breathing heavy
in morning romance
in jasmine breeze..
Ahh! a good morning indeed.