Morning
If husband I am not your lover I remain
I have light caress and laughter at my fingertips
I read your score you sing as you should
In my palm your heart nestles its home
On the shoulder your cheek gently rested
It's the salt of a kiss, the foam of a sigh
Who breathes his primitive breath on my skin
And your dream takes shape in a flow of dew
In your serene sleep it is always morning
Why would I burn a candle at both ends?
Risking burn-out attempting exhaustion
When the song so faint carried by chanterelle
Opposes the light to the fury of madness
The sun rises on your thread, this elf.
©James Idriss Madfull
