Sunday Morning

I woke this morning when your stubbled

chin and its partnered smile (so often the subject

of my affection) grazed my graffitied

shoulder with a kiss you wrapped your arms

around me like sunlight peeking through curtains

skin smelling like the soap

running through my chest hair last night

when you washed me while

laughing at the ridiculousness

of two people sharing a small shower

our shared warmth and your quiet breath

lulled me back into half-slumber

intimately broken by your hand

dancing across my chest

Tate A. Geborkoff