Ash

waiting for him to get up in the morning was like a slow lull back into sleep
lying on my side, tracing the owl tattoo on his shoulder
I would kiss him, run the tip of my tongue along his neck like a snake
tasting the sleep, the exhaust on his skin
he’d open his eyes
dreary
sleepy
tired
“morning, baby.”
“pack me a bowl, will you?”
and so I would
he’d drift in and out of sleep, it took me a while
but he was either patient or hung over
every morning
I’d take one hit before handing it over to him
sometimes he didn’t even sit up
sometimes I didn’t even inhale
sometimes I wondered if the first words out of his mouth in the morning
were his way of making sure he could avoid having to
deal with me
sober
“thanks.”
“no problem, you want breakfast?”