Mornings like these

are almost better spent alone

There is a storm coming

and the rain spatters menacingly on the window panes

while I stare blankly out 

at the muted world,

that is sporting a particularly saucy accent as of late,

safely inside my temperature controlled home.

There is no temperature in here

I stand in my underwear,

not cold,

not warm, 

but just because I can.

Yes, mornings like these are better spent without you.

I get out of bed as I please,

not so early as to escape your morning embrace,

and not so late as I am late.

I take my long hot shower

spending time on myself

and I get to drink the entirety of the french press

a two for one deal

and then I stare out the window some more

thinking about all of the things I could be doing with fifteen spare minutes

like breaking into the books collecting dust on my shelf

that I promise everyone I will read 

or getting around to finishing that piece I was writing but abandoned

or writing this poem

but I don’t have to listen to you read me an article from the internet

that I pretend to care about, but don’t.

Instead I listen to my clothes tumbling helplessly in the dryer

and the impending storm pestering the wind chimes

and it is entirely silent

and I can hear myself think

and I think

that I quite enjoy mornings like these