clinomania//morning mourning

sunfingers reach through the vertical blinds

and the day breathes its first breath as the air kicks on.

with a sputtery motor & flickering light,

it is day, but the night still clings to your eyes.

you savor the stardust that grits your eyelashes

and sink deeper into the heaven of fluffed angelfeather pillows.

and you sigh at the irony of bed, -

- how much softer it is in the morning.

night promises you all the time in the world

whispering in deep tones, that if you watch til the sparkling twilight,

perhaps doomed & dreaded morning will never come. and

you will be swept away to wherever the night goes.

morning air smells like deadlines and stale noon coffee

after the lingering spicy scent of night fades around you.

daylight scolds your laziness, guilting you to feel timesplurging,

but what good is a half-slept day? thus is the life of nocturnals.

in silky butter-smooth pajamas & the christmas socks from grandma

you tug yourself upward, blankets cling to you in protest.

and sitting up, all the champagne flavored dreams cluttered in your foggy head

tumble down before your vision. lovely and dark and sleepy.

you tip the clock with one hand, quirk a pillow-fuzzed eyebrow at

the blaring red numbers that have the same severity as

that lofty old english professor. who cared what he thought anyways?

and what good is a half-slept day? the clock tips back, time facing the wall.

the ice-cold floor against your feet, oh they felt divine between that sheet

and the stripe of honeysuckle sunshine left warmth trailing down

your cloudsoft bed. did life really expect you to wake now?

what did a person need to justify sleeping all day?

so with a dream-hungry windy sighing yawn and tired eyes,

you slip back into creamy sheets of scented white pine

soft and sunbaked and smiling

and sleep away the day’s second half of sunshine.