in Poetic Prose

Sunrise

As the sky changes from black to grey to blue I watch the light sketch out her features. Her brow, her nose, her lips becoming ever clearer. The shadows recede into the folds of the sheets and the storm-cloud of her hair upon the pillow.
When she sleeps she does not hide her face from me.
And for once the sunrise is more beautiful – and sad – than the sunset.

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