POEM: Sun Slave [PoMo Day 25 – Aubade]

Warm light filters through the window,
killing the perfect night.
The gravity of bed still holds -
as eyelids deny sight.

And life's order would wrench me out
from under the cover,
but for the allure and the bliss
of my love, and lover.

Why must the sun be on the march?
Why must we heed its place,
and surrender that entwinement -
chest pillow against face?

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