I thank the heavens for the winter cold,
For the days of darkness that keep you here so long.
I thank the tilted earth for each added moment
before—

The yellowed knife of dawn reaches in, to our bed.
Between the sweat and the sheets,
Through the warmth of your breath on the back of my neck.
It slices the heat between us with its own burning blade.

I have learned the ways of time.
I know the sounds of its fleeting footsteps down my hall.
I feel its tremors in the new day's stretch and yawn,
with the flutter of your soft kiss, while I feign sleep.

Forgive me, I cannot rise and meet the sun with you.
I must remain here, a true child of the moon,
Holding on to the last wisps of cold night air
and the dreams we made there together.