just

my waking thoughts
of you
comfortable and warm
like so many syllables
aged yellow
climbed to the ceiling
reeling under insufficient words
yet still standing.
sliding off crimson lips
clutching cloves
dripped on to pages
of indigo tattoos
and linear art.
line upon clever line
anguished over
erased
withdrawn
redrawn
until their essence
finally
appears,
though faltering
still
s-s-stammering
barely adequate
yet impatiently
waiting to be born
on to your ears.
all this
just
to say
good-morning
my love.

© Copyright claimed 2007, Debra Marlar