I used to think about
Taking pictures of you in the morning,
on the bed, hair a beautiful mess,
Not knowing where the sheets end
and your skin begins.
I like to think when I’ve had my first camera
I’d snap monuments of you,
statues of black and white and gray,
in high fidelity, in a little screen,
half asleep, and half awake –
She was always that beautiful.
I don’t know if I should start to think
that I’ll never be able to wake mornings with you.