On a cold, crisp March morning

The shape of clouds unfurls like a flower
its light filtering soft— such that embraces
the ground,

and fragrance of post-rain validates the hour.
There is something about the early hours of morning
that entices me,
as coffee lips utter the first words that come to mind;
the kind of poems I write
are the ones
you read
stretched out under the covers.
Don’t tell me the blushing sun is unwitting,
the dark potency of my desire brings even Eros
to his knees—

teasing the shadows, I watch as sunlight unveils
the distant hills;
I am an early bird,
my song, a conversation
the night has with dawn.




Photo credits: Pinterest

Rommy invites us to shape our work around the idea
of early birds, night owls or both. Come join us! 📝

A Skylover Wordlist: Cream, fragrant, ground 💝

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United