Sentimental Patient

[penfield]

Good Morning
by Jason Hammersla


It is the strangest thing
That you are so warm in the morning,
And so pretty.
People are supposed to be disgusting at 8 a.m.,
Befouled by sleep,
With the stench of well-worn pajamas
And last night's supper.
They are supposed to be half-frozen,
Tangled in bedsheets
And shivering, like spring squirrels.
I, for instance,
Feel like a dropped fork.

But you peek from under the covers,
Humming softly, a quiet furnace,
Still weary from dreaming.
Your eyes blink slowly
As they twinkle in thin stripes of sunlight,
And soft lips gently curl at their ends,
A velvet curtain drawing.
Your skin smells like warm bread
And you whisper in a chocolate breath,
"Good morning,"
But I think to myself,
"You have no idea."