Waking up

Sordid melancholy of waking up in the morning,

Be it pouring down, be it spring,

Be it shivers under covers, or bathing in sweat,

Lessened only by your face, I ardently look at.

Once covered in sheets it had been, and then hairs and then my kiss

Slowly beholding, lazily rising, my mysterious unkempt bliss.

In stretches lays charms languid, slowly again drifting to doze,

The nape uncovered, kisses unhindered tilting spine in passion froze.

Hands define the extent of pleasure, Eyes closed to context decipher

Melting to spoil, curled in a coil, my love rises in early pleasure.

The morning yawn, the moan of pleasure, under the covers, you begin to peep

Awake, arise, behold before you, the man you last tendered to sleep