My mornings are conducted
in silence
more often than not
(with you still tangled
up in your bedsheets
when I rise to greet the
dawn).
Little wisps of your hair
stand up straight, askew
more than neat
and swooped
into your usual
style.
Your chest rises,
breath flowing
in
and
out.
I go about my routines
quietly, tiptoeing across the room
in an effort to watch you sleep soundly
(the better parts of our life together).

But when you rise,
your tired eyes
flash with glints of anger.
You shout and
slur and threaten to leave me
like you always do.

And when you finally calm down
enough to drink your coffee
(that I made special for you)
you look me in the eye
and say
“It’s gotten cold again.”