hot priorities

I left you early in the mornings,
tangled in my sheets,

skin so soft,
it was always
a small miracle
each time I managed
to peel myself away

I’d sit with my
back to you, turn
once in a while to
watch you sleep, to
contemplate kissing
you awake

and write–

the writing was
always first
that summer

at least
in the mornings.

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