Sunday Morning

A Poem About Sharing a Home

Photo by Eniola B. on Unsplash

Sunday Morning

We spend the morning in bed,
hair pressed to the pillows,
still blinking out of dreams.
Our first words plucked and mumbled.

Our bed is a mattress on pallets.
The sheets have come untucked in the night. Toes kicking at the air.
I am curled…