I saw a face staring out at me
From within the glass,
Quizzical eyes begging the question,
Who are you?
No, don’t ask me that, it’s too early
For that kind of thinking
And it would take all day to give you
Half an answer,
But I know who you are –
Because no one but a poet and a musician
Would look this bad in the morning.
She smirks at me as I think this,
Like she has read my mind
And isn’t in the least bit offended.
I observe her hair,
Dark and wavy,
Spread out like a curtain over her face
Still blinking sleep from her eyes.
“You are surreal,” I say,
And her lips move in time with mine,