ZINNIA HATES MORNINGS.

[dadio]

Zinnia hates mornings. Hates the first
Flicker of daylight through shutters,
The birdsong, Gregory’s last moment
Fumble for fuck before work. She likes
To lay in bed, the pink pillow caressing
Her head, the light shut out, tucked up
Warm and spared, and Gregory gone and
Good riddance. Zinnia wants to dream of
Other men: rich, famous, good-looking,
Adventurous and alive; wants new clothes,
Shoes, trips to far places, new people, not
Old familiar faces. She turns over and pulls
The covers, Gregory rubs her breasts, touches
Her ass, blows on her neck. He has a bulge
In his pyjama pants, she can feel the heat,
His deep breathing, his breathed out words
Over her shoulder. She hates mornings, sun’s
First flicker, song of birds, and Gregory’s fast
Fumbling fucks and heat. She turns around,
Pretends it’s a young Robert Redford lying there,
Not Gregory with stale breath and scarce hair.