Losing A Whole Day by Holly Walter

I’ll set my alarm for seven-thirty;
we’ll sleep til eleven-forty five.
I’ll hit “snooze” three times
and you’ll pull me closer after each,
snagging my hair under your shoulder,
grumbling a sleepy apology,
choking on your snores.

You’ll slouch on the futon later,
playing Skyrim while I outline essays
and nag about the boom of slashing
weapons, and roaring dragons,
and shouting alchemists, and you’ll
finally turn it down while still
cursing and slaying with
your war hammer.

When it’s dark, we’ll watch
a rented movie with surround sound
and cheesy one-liners.  My eye lids
will droop like saggy crescent moons;
you’ll lug an arm across
my waist and coax me down on
the mattress, and breathe warmly
on my neck, and laugh too loudly
at the funny parts.

I’ll set my alarm for seven-thirty;
we’ll sleep til eleven forty-five.

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