Morning routine.

I want to be your alarm.

6.45, open your eyes I’m the thing on your mind that your right-hand finds,

that you reach for

wanting five minutes more.

The reality, infiltrating your dreams with a piece of me, morning fantasy

your dream girl.

At least, literally.

 

Wanna be your run.

7 o’clock, I’ll switch your mind off, be the wind that turns your thoughts soft, the frost,

that you breathe

in through your teeth.

The cold but then, your warmth again, the blood under your skin, i’m in

your flushed cheeks.

You blush, and I win.

 

Your coffee.

7.30, I’ll be what you need, your sweet release, morning energy, it’s me

that starts your day.

The first words you say,

to the barista you hush ‘til the caffeine rush when you’ve had enough to discuss

the weather, politely.

I’ll be that much.

 

I wanna be the headline.

8am, the front page thing of the paper you skim, take me in before it’s binned

on the ledge behind

the seats inside

the tube you take, always late, I’ll be the small talk you make, a big mistake.

You’re funny before breakfast,

something commuters can’t take.

 

I’ll be your cigarette.

8.56, held in your lips, the thing you promise you’ll quit, but can’t resist.

I’m one deep breath

that takes you closer to death,

but brings you calm, holds the anxiety down, I come before the storm, can’t put me down.

The first smoke of the day,

hanging around.

 

I could be your key.

9, it’s time, I’ll let you inside, like the building’s mine, and I can decide,

that it’s only you

I’ll open up to.

But keep me close, ‘cus I know, keys go, for days at most,

lost.

A silver lining, I hope.

 

I’m none of these things.

But I’m 9.31, when the day’s begun, all that stuff is already done and my eyes look up, meet yours to interrupt

Your morning routine.

 

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