I say Good Morning. The light is soft and thin. I kiss him and hold him close As the day begins. I hold him as he wakes up. The shadows start to flee. I wait for his eyes to open And turn their gaze to me. The breakfast is on the table. The steam begins to rise. I watch him stretch his rested arms With sleep still in his eyes. I give him a coffee cup. The porcelain is warm. A quiet, steady ritual. A shelter from the storm. The bedroom clock is ticking. A slow and rhythmic beat. He sips the dark infusion. The morning air is sweet. I watch the way he settles. I watch the way he moves. Life within this circle. In these well-worn, morning grooves. I give him a coffee cup. I say Good Morning. Good Morning.
