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Yawning silent mornings
into patchwork quilts.
Sleep still tugging at soft
eyelashes and at the corners
of pastel smiles.
Coffee aromas from forgotten cups
kept warm by sincere rays
flooding through the breeze-kissed
windows panes.
It all exists here—
in the soft breath and
hollow curves, that cuddle
the room and stop either of us
ever wanting to leave.
Silence is what happens
when we could create melodies
from last night’s memories,
but instead, we choose to lay muted.
Sewing hushed harmonies
through unsuspecting organs,
tethering ourselves together
without a sound,
within paused seconds,
wordlessly,
to this bed.
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