A
Languid morning
As the day steals o’er the languid morning
I wrap the duvet of my dreams,
Sit by the window and
indulge.
The haze of the caliginous night lifts
Revealing a slumbering dawn
That yawns at the
Aubade.
The dew melds into the rain dripping
From the eaves like a sparge
As if the morning
Ablates.
In the quietude of the supine morrow
I stretch to rouse my somnolent
Senses, coming awake
Languorously.
The misty veil lifts revealing sunshine
Incandescent like spun gold
Spilling its lambency
Ubiquitously.
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