Tamara de Lempicka (1935)
Do you know how much I long for you at dawn?
Oh, that burning of my eyelids reminds me
why it is called break of day.
Yes, something is broken.
Sometimes, before I submit to sight and sound
I touch my fingertips to lips for proof
of life, an inkling of breath,
a taste of your name.
A bed is like a grave, and we embrace the death
it promises, the dissociated state
where forgetting is real
and living deflected.
Yet, I know you are in the world, some where
and for this reason alone I quieten
the irrational impulse to check
for shards at my feet.
It is only the light that lies divided on the rug.
I swing my legs over the edge to stand up,
as you too must cross the threshold
of your own new day.
Play It Again Toads!
I have written the Aubade using words from Hedgewitch's list.