6 am

It is 6 am,

Morning traffic, a cat, and solitude.

My apartment is filled with car noise, drinking coffee in bed, writing, and reading,

It is a workday morning,

Knowing that next is getting dressed,

A fast hair wash and check email,

Then away to work.

 

Will this change,

And do I want it to be different,

I enjoy the aloneness,

The coffee for one,

The farting loudly and carelessly,

Snorting out loud at nothing,

Like a cat batting at ghost bugs.

 

 

Do I want you next to me?

Do I want your leg all copper furry and long across my quilt,

All biked-up muscle and vine to tie me up,

Keeping me twined up around you,

Drinking your green eyes, not coffee,

Fuck the coffee.

 

I am afraid to find you next to me,

Afraid of all the wonder and terror and possibilities,

Afraid of your sharp smell, your tiny-fingered touch, and your heart,

Afraid of what it would be like to have all that here, and then gone,

Forever.

 

It is now 7:30 am,

I get up to check my email,

And find a note from you,

All hugs and kisses and nicknames,

All let’s get together and sweet,

I cry from wanting,

You, it is you that I want sometimes.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to 6 am

  1. artpredator says:

    i like how this starts in the mundane, then builds. love the third stanza–Fuck the coffee. (!)

    Like

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