• Brian M Winningham

Tuesday Morning

Waking up suddenly in our dark shadowed room

My heart still racing from nightly terrors never remembered

Slows to contentment and peace at the sound of you sleeping

Your presence the only home I have ever needed.


Groggily peering into the grey-shrouded gloom

My eyes opening, focusing, seeking your form

I see your hair fanned on your pillow, the rest snuggled deep,

Save for calf, ankle, and foot, laid bare and exposed.


In the miasma of a slept-in room, close and warm,

The ceiling fan slowly beating the soup

Scents from last night linger and fade under the dank air,

My breath catches as I smile and remember.


I slide my hand over and touch your hair,

Sliding it intently through my fingers like a rosary

I give thanks and worship you, my love

Gently playing with your hair and touching your ears.


You roll away from me onto your side and

I begin untying the knots of muscles in your back

And what begins as a groan turns into a purr

Moving and stretching and more than half-asleep.


I wrap my arm across your breasts

And pull myself gently into your back,

Molding us together, limbs twining like jungle vines

Contentment and safety flooding every cell of my being.


You arch back and turn your chin over your shoulder

Looking at me wide-awake with dreamy, sleepy eyes.

I smile at you and touch your cheek,

And we begin our day with love.

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