Cafuné

I want a quiet and slow morning.
Gold dripping down everything as it pours through the windows.
Body heat hoarded by the silk comforter,
thwarting the morning chill in every attempt to sneak under.

I want us sleepy and slow moving.
Urgency and the need to untangle limb from limb nonexistent.
Lay still, relax, and refuse to open your eyes.
When it is sweet like this,
not even dreams can outdo real life.

I want this; not fantasy and slow mimicry.
There is nothing for us outside these sheets
besides the bleak grind of monotony
and empty sun-soaked streets.

There is no one left who could punish us for any of this,
so let unchecked desire spur hedonistic indulgences.
We waste the day,
wasted and away
from any jealous judgments,
nodding off from mainlining pure bliss.