The mornings are better without you.
I can watch the gray give way to blue,
Let light creep in where you reclined—
Shaping my expectation,
Building anticipation.
No aftermath, or hours-long bath,
No drowning in your stench.
No raw-throated prayers
Or mirror-eyed stares
At the wreckage of your wake.
Your lips promise warmth—
A slow burn, a whispered hush,
A debaucherous dive into lust.
But you are cold and stiff.
Indifferent. Merciless.
Your kiss like a curse.
Stand tall, but stand back.
Your voice is velvet, but I’ve licked the teeth beneath.
Encourage, dissuade—
But do it from over there.
The mornings are better without you.
We know this is true.
Your delusions, foggy and grand,
Can wither and decay where they stand.
