Pre-dawn madrigal; tender ache tugs at
faint consciousness of her awakening
on another continental shelf – a dream away.

Awareness of her form stirring, responding to
the tinkle and clunk of the routine and mundane.
Only she could bestow such beauty to this hour.

Strands of auburn, scents of musk, rustle and
rush; the fumble of fingers, the urging, the fuss.
A love past rues in the quietness of its world….

Love letter written at 0300 hrs,
but what better way to start the day?

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