Morning

I sit before the mirror,
Dead eyes,
Morning shadow upon me,
Tousled and transfixed,
Beside me your bronze body in slumber,
Prostrate, inanimate, cold,
Sleep severed umbilicus,
Waiting for resurrection.

Waking you softly, I draw you close,
Your warm breath teasing,
Playfully blowing in my ear,
I pull away preoccupied with me….
Until your force pulls me back,
Running your fingers through my hair,
Body hot with anticipation.

Turning swiftly, I take you,
Together in mirrored mimicry,
Then sated, I cast you aside…
So you can sleep,
And I can return to my mask.

Olias