I am most gentle in the morning
when I wake,
if I rise with the sun, you
at my side
then surely
I was a blur in the night.
Something secretive, vicious;
drawing you out and feeding
from your goodness.
I was a fury and now,
drunk with echoing slumber
I, like the tranquilized tigress,
could be your pet.
You may do well to remember
that docile sleeping face,
and in memory
my darkness is not so weighted
as my stolen, fleeting aurora grace.
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