Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Summer Angel

It was summer.
I slept in satin every night,
as you stayed awake,
standing guard over my body,
like it was our last goodbye.
You were the first thing I saw every morning,
as the sun poured through the window,
and you tucked that little unruly strand of hair behind your ear (it’s always the same one).
I don’t break our gaze,
my hands finding their way, blind, to my notebook,
always by my bedside,
because you were always on my mind,
and all of that had to go somewhere.
So, there I sat, staring and writing without taking my eyes from you,
my hands dancing across the page,
ink forming fantasies from little spots and lines,
about my divine angel,
and how I would never get used to how good waking up to her felt.

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