In the morning he is
gruffly spoken and roused,
unshaven and naked
between the sheets.

He grabs me, gruff,
pulled into his scent
stale, musty, sandpaper.

I love him like this
untouched by the day.

Well, I didn’t have much luck with the prompt, that’s for sure. I attempted the Radisson Witch Project and the Right Wing Policy and the Right to Water Program but nothing came about so I’ve posted something else I wrote today that I am pretty fond of. Better luck tomorrow! That’s what this is all about, right?