This morning at four, or nearly four
I find myself untied, unlaced, unlashed;

I find I find myself unlatched, or nearly so.
Today the morning soars but I, unwinged,

do not wheel. No. Nor, to be fair, do I
show a singular or even single care

to be aloft. I have no preference for air;
prefer, instead, the confines of covers,

the soft of a lover’s thigh, the rounded
comfort of groundedness beside her,

the warmth of comforters and her smile,
while all else seeks to fly away.


Posted for this week’s prompt, “Nest“, at ONE SINGLE IMPRESSION


9 thoughts on “NESTED

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s