an early morning portrait of you

i can't help but think of Picasso

or Matisse

when i see

the curve of you

in the morning,

your long leg hanging out

from the pink

sheets.

the twist of you,

one arm

unseen, your pale body

in slumber,

the morning light and

bright

clock with

red

blinking numbers.

and when the cat appears

to curl

beside you, it's face

becoming yours.

it's finished.