the chains of the morning bed,
clawing back the body of he

holding the self, snoozing away
the sounds of the chirps

of a little sun, of a little rain
of hopes that are so little

the uneventful swirl of the fan
and embrace of sheets that are cold

eyes that want some more time
to sleep in a body that’s tired still

the chains of the morning bed
pushing away the body of he.