Taste of Morning

The future dances on my lips as I wake –

a tantalizing moth of the morning hours

fluttering above my eyelashes in a place

it’s both vulnerable and catchable –

but I let it be.

Yesterday’s tomorrow,

brushing past my skin,

brings up goosebumps

as the days slide down my body

and back under the folds of darkness

in my sheets.

A memory waiting to happen

sits cross-legged and smiling

at the end of the bed,

watching as the months

separating it and I

glide past and disappear.

It’s a moment I can almost

reach through time,

and touch.

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