Those sandy eyes grinding open
are regularly accompanied by bitterly, bone-dry gums,
faintly tasting of Pinot's tart and last night's burger run across the street--
pieces of pickle seeds still lodged between my molars.

And when the growling of Lemmon Ave. and the roars of Love Field begin to gradually overpower the imagery of my wine-induced dreams,
bits and pieces of she and I boldly bearing our deepest and most untold secrets
and us cracking each other up with YouTube vids and jokes we'd meticulously collected throughout the week, catered to each other's comedic taste
we so longingly looked forward to sharing on our designated night, begin to trickle into my consciousness. 

As she and I lie there naked as birth--the thought I didn't go easy on her in our first chess match and that I noticed she secretly admired me for her 3-time defeat struck a mischievous grin across my stubbled face.  Though, I was unexpectedly turned on when she somehow managed to take my rook and my queen.  

Her mind arousing me like that made us make love 4 times, 'til dawn's sapphire forcefully rendered us slumbered.

I've awoken to the sleepy and rhythmic breath of too many faces 
but never to the one who breathed life back into me I didn't know I needed.
For once, if a slip-up did occur, I'd fear not this morning after. 

Because of that, I had to have her once more at 9:36, right before I cooked her eggs rancheros.

Our hangover had to submit to the runny yolk, rustic chilies, and avocado.

Thanks to them, I spent the rest of the day writing my heart away; she spent the rest of the day painting.

From the Soul,