Rouse
You are silver and moon and crickets. I am gold and noon and four o’clocks. We overlap at cockcrow when you bring me your cold body to warm. Curl into my nest of sheets and quilt. Press against my back passing a shiver through me. Murmur that my hair tickles your nose. Turn my sleep loose body from comma to exclamation. I would stay if not for birdsong and photosynthesis. You wandered the quiet rooms and left me love letters on windows and mirrors. I breathe to make them appear, add fingerprint postscripts. 