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The first sure thing in the morning,
the first thing one open, blurry eye
manages to bring into focus,
is the recognizable glistening of his hair.
Filtered sun lifts me in his warm shirt;
cool wood creaks as if laughing
when my feet touch the floor;
a congress of chirping voices
chatter outside the open windows;
the pulse of the morning
gives birth to the beat of a new tattoo.
I could live endlessly
here on the lake with him
and feel we belong here together.
Sunrise stretches dawn's light;
it caresses us as we rise;
our love's and life's motions
are fresh, given and received,
repeated as the day ages.