“Afterhaze” by Abigail Marshall

in the mornings I liked to listen
to the sunrise on the radio
the smoke would rise and fall
to an abstract rhythm
like the tempo of your lungs
as you slept
sometimes I liked to exist
in the ephemeral break of day
as it shone through our skylight
I’d smoke my cigarette
and watch you dream
drinking deeply every last breath
and I’d wonder
what you were seeing,
what cinematic event was playing
out across your eyelids
your arms a labyrinth
of tattoos, grasping tightly
to the duvet in moments
of unconscious vulnerability
your eyebrows knotted
together in concern
for your invisible dream world
I longed to steal
into your head and see
what you were seeing
along with you; sometimes
I’d slant open the blinds
and let the inclines
of light tilt and sway
across the contours
of your collarbone, holding
steady in this sea of
alabaster sheets and

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