of mornings
every one
is still a mystery
to me
breaking from
the shadows
where yesterday
the moon
perched outside
my window
in stoic reverie
a confidante
deserving
of a wish
reserved for stars
a voyeur
unaccustomed
to my shame
confessed in shades
of lavender
sheets where warmed
the dawn
awakened by
the memory
of dreams

. . .