Morning, in the Tent
I smile in that cloudy space between
asleep and awake as I slowly realize we
are in the tent and not our bed.
Smells: someone’s distant breakfast fire, my sweat, his sweat.
Sensations: usually unobtrusive junctures between muscles,
bones, ligaments, and tendons making themselves
known for having slept so close to the ground. The gentle
pressure of his leg interlaced between mine, his
arm draped over my waist, hand resting near my
Sounds: wind tickling leaves and jostling clinging raindrops
from last night’s storm, until they reluctantly let go and plummet
onto the tarp. His even and deep breathing, my favorite
sleep-inducing drug, and I can feel myself succumbing
to sweet drowsiness, until. . .
I hear him zipping up the tent, sacrificing the morning breeze for
privacy, and I smile again to myself and grab my pillow, because I might need
help staying quiet enough during our impending union.