the morning after

A few months ago we went out drinking with mutual friends. We sat across from each other as we ordered drink after drink; laughing, singing, and shouting along with the rest of the bar. You squeezed my hips and whispered in my ear. I blushed. You said something like 'why does tonight feel so different?' We has already filed for divorce. We both knew it could no longer work. Yet here we were. Flirting. Later on that night,  with confusion and reiteration, we undressed. I was sober by then- yet I mumbled words of love, said I missed you, clumsily dragged my lips down your cheeks.

I shared my writing with you the next day, about the previous night. I wanted to persuade you that I was able to write about you, something you always doubted I could do. But that's a different poem for a different day. Here is a revised poem from our last night.

~~

I know you're softest in the morning light 

Where you're in between reality and sleep

Still stretching out the limbs

Of your subconscious thoughts 

Lazily rubbing magic out of your eyes

It's there- 

in those uneven moments 

I think I see an old smile

One I can trace without thinking 

That's imprinted on me

Almost permanent 

I know you're softest in the morning light

Before the retractable claws appear 

It's where I try and touch you

Convince you I'm a character 

In your dream 

A touch,  maybe 

To transport you back to 

Our old daydream of a life 

If I could remind you of anything 

It's always just our past

I know you're softest in the morning light