It’s Dark, It’s Bright.

It is dark. Outside, inside. It is dark behind these covers, but I slide them back, allowing my eyes to see more darkness. It is cold. Outside, inside. The window fogs at my warmth and I slide it closed, allowing the chill to lose its edge. The day is young, or the night is old. I cannot tell, for my mind is still fogged like the window I closed, like my eyes. When I slid the covers away from my eyes, they did not take the sleep with them. It is peaceful. The water runs hot over my nakedness, and my mind does nothing. There are no thoughts, just water and soap and silence.

This is my morning alone. Outside, inside. Alone.

It is bright. Outside, inside. Reddening dark blues color the sky. The day is young or the night is old, but it is bright. I slide the covers away from my eyes, and can just make out the outline of your face. It is warm. Outside, inside. The window is open and the air is like ice, but it is warm. You leave our bed and reach up, drawing the window closed. You glance my way and smile. It is sensual. The water runs over our nakedness, its heat adding to our own. The air is charged. There are no words, just soft touches as we soap each other’s bodies. My only thought is you. The water rinses the soap, but we still revel in this small moment of silence. I let your body take mine and my only thought is you.

This is my morning with you. Outside, inside. Together.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Two Right Feet.”

This entry was posted in Femme Fatale, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to It’s Dark, It’s Bright.

  1. Pingback: The morning routine… | The Hempstead Man

  2. dreierjo says:

    I love the sentiment of the external world reflected and reverberated in the internal world. Often I find that overcast days are more somber and bright sunny days are filled with more laughter. I think this is a universal human phenomenon and your poem articulates this wonderfully.


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