Tardy day six

 

Morning

Woken by the smell of bonfires

clinging to ruffled fur.

Padded points of weight

press my head deeper into my warm pillow.

You pick your way disdainfully

over the stepping stone continent

of my duveted form

merely an impediment to your beloved.

 

Rustily vibrating you tangle

blood stained scything paws

in his beard.

Wrapped around your smallest claw

he stirs, murmurs and rubs a still sleeping hand

over your tilted head and jaw.

I watch you lift your chin then narrow your eyes

In alpha triumph.

 

Glinting shards of morning sun slice in

to leave rainbows trapped in your whiskers.

 

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2 responses to “Tardy day six

  1. Buggers, aren’t they?

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