his morning feels like mischief wrapped in a blanket.
The sun is peeking through the curtains like it’s in on a secret,
and I’m still tangled in warmth, stretching, sighing,
pretending I’m not waiting for your good morning.

The world is quiet, but my thoughts?
Oh, they’re already wandering to you— your voice, your hands,
the way you’d pull me closer and say “five more minutes.”

So maybe I’ll just stay here, smiling into my pillow,
thinking of you, and letting the morning tease me a little longer.