Morning Air

Stars dissolve soundlessly,

dark ink draining

til plum-tinged sky

is still.

Slip under silk sheets

warm tea in one palm.

Sweet cinnamon and cream

call with fragrant haze

pad down, creeping

barefooted and cat-like

for even birds are silent.

Cocooned in warm covers,

though icy fingers reach, they

are deterred by our warmth.

Savor every still second,

before honking cars,

raised voices, and deadlines reign again,

for we rule this smaller realm.

Morning has begun.