Good Morning…

A morning can only mean so much,
A smile before the silence takes a crazy route to office,
A lazy moment playing with the naughty pieces of sunlight,
A rub of the souls seeking warmth in each other,
A taste of the warm, slept in skin,
And the peace of not knowing which fingers belong to whom in the hands entwined.
It’s true that a morning can mean only so much and so little.
How does it matter if I taste forgiveness in you for all things yesterday?
How does it matter if you feel acceptance in my touch for all things scarred?
After all it’s just a Good Morning with another cup of tea and morbid news from around the world…

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