Nest

I'm never sad for the night since it always disappears when I'm sleeping…I know another will come. 
I mourn the morning hours. 
I see it thinking about leaving, I watch it consider its exit. 
Each time I'm struck to stillness, 
seeing its back, walking away from my company. 
When it's gone all I have left is to reminisce and remember how my body felt inside its belly. 
How my eyes squinted and pressed closed with pleasure under the morning's heat, 
beneath its humid haze, 
secure.
I'll long for the morning that's gone and sulkingly trudge through the loud and raucous day. 
The day is for socialites. 
The day is for talkers. 
The day is for people who like to call on the phone. 
The day is full of wanderings for me. 
I can't ever know what direction I should be facing. 
The morning is gone and the night is too mysterious. 
It appears of a sudden, 
the night. 
I'm always surprised by its arrival. 
It never tells me when it's coming. 
I find it staring in my window when I walk through my living room. 
It scares me...makes me think I've forgotten something. 
The night makes me worry and regret…I spent my day fidgeting and ruminating, but never did the thing. 
Now it's night. 
I only have hope when the night swings me to sleep and I'm filled with the soft anticipation of morning. 
So much like you. 
So much like you. 
The waiting and the leaving and the anticipation. 
When I have you in my arms. 
When I have your lips on mine, I squint and press my body into your warmth. 
You leave, I watch you walk so far away…out of sight. 
I find a corner and build a nest.
Twining sensations together, twisting smells and lingering touch, braiding sounds and memories around me. 
This nest is becoming soft and there is only room for one.