Thirteen

curses glued together
with deep black sleep,
when i tug at your pyjama leg,
seep forth through your teeth
gritted
holding back mouthfuls of dreams.

somewhere,
your head forgets the pillow,
and morning filters orange
into your speech.

you talk to me
in one word clarity.

you stretch, your fingers flex,
you are reluctant to leave behind
familiar warmth
of promises, prophecies, visions hidden
that you promise to tell me.

the black of your eyes have a single shine,
each.
you smile,
remembering how ugly you are.

it is morning.
you smile.
it is morning.

i laugh,
loving it every single time
you wake up
to me.