5:20 a.m.

by Cassie

A bleary 5 and 20 glimpsed through lashes set on dreaming
through the sweet sharp pull of milk and her gentle descent
down in it, a white space of warmth and flesh between her fingers,
and behind me is the landscape of early morning hour love,
sloping hills of softly scented skin that tastes like drowning in the sea,
and I would open my mouth underwater and never fight the tide
to feel my limbs grow heavy as they swim through the honeyed
way we move together under moons almost as full as the wave
hovering over the village of my hipbones as they rise into the stars.