Am

In the morning I see you as you are. 
Naked and content.
Framed by sunlight and the white of our sheets.
I see the freckles.
I see the sliver of your eyes as they resist opening and beginning anew our struggles.
I see a full fledged woman bathed in potential. 
Her nuances are my favorite.
The groan. The shuffle. The pouty lips. Savage curls.
I take the mental photograph and smile.
I find her on the couch, brightening the masterpiece that is her face.
Fidgeting as she eats. Her toes sticking out. Wiggling and brightly painted with the colorful vibrancy of summer.
Mornings may not be her favorite, but they are mine.
It is the lucky ones that get to see the conductor prepare for the symphony.