24 October, 2014

a mess of a post: really old draft i'll eventually work on again

I am always dreaming of waking up; as if resurfacing.

a Saturday morning, dewy skies and September, an arm around my waist, a leg between my legs like papers haphazardly folded together then smoothed, coming off clumsy. My hair a black lake on the pillows and your fingers palm fronds on my hips. Outside there's a city kissing your window as you press your body to mine, still lost in sleep, slowly brushing back branches to wakefulness.