Last night, when you had your hands all tangled up in my hair and my legs were all tangled up in your sheets, you asked me what I wanted from you.
I said mornings.
I want you in pajamas and a coffee mug printed with Shakespeare's finest quotes about love
I want dawn-lit mopeds in the streets of Italy
I want three-forty-five adventures to mountaintops, chasing high-altitude sunrises and solitude
I want your arm in the divot between my hipbone and my ribs
I want you to read me Tosches and Emerson in the honey-light of 7AM in the summer
You said, I can do that.
Wait for me at daybreak. I'll meet you there.