waking up in the morning, –
for her is became more of a routine,
rather than a necessity.
she is still in her bed, laying naked.
stripped from yesterday’s ado
by the artificial nightmares.
covered by the shades from the oak tree.
soon she’ll get up.
her feet will touch a hardwood floor,
and the tiles will happily squeak
rejoicing in her steps.
she’ll slip into her t-shirt,
(it wasn’t originally her)
(I do, because I saw)
first she’ll make herself another coffee,
then she’ll make herself another day.
the t-shirt is on the hardwood floor,
and no more naked feet.
left by her high heels on the shiny surface.
the empty coffee cup.
shades of the tree, that on the southern wall,
her mirror on the wall.