It wakes us up too early. I say, O
sweet man. forgive me. I am not wet
enough for this morning ritual. Still, we begin with kisses
and try to go from there. I think about how this is a cycle—life and death
all part of what brings us to this. So he sits up and puts my hand on
his chest and tells me how I look like a sweet memory. This sad earth
makes me feel too melancholy. I shake it off. Sit up. Too lovely
is the act of sex in the vulnerable morning. I lay on top of him. he says, god, fucking
god you are my fucking god. I think about the body’s function and how in
time I have found this act a part of love’s function. We go on, doing what the
bodies tell us to do. And in the end, we lay back down. Sloppy and tired. A sort of poem.
Samantha (Sam) Harrison (she/her) lives in Indiana and is an English major studying at Franklin College. Her poetry has appeared in The Merrimack Review, Tiny Flames Press, Turnpike Magazine and Nymphs. In her free time, she draws cartoons and posts occasional thoughts on her twitter (@totallysamh).