Tomorrow,  she says

eyes closed,  head tilted to the windows

 

in the morning when the street lights surrender

when buses growl and cars blow horns 

 

tomorrow,  she says

pulling the blanket almost to her chin

 

when the lights flicker in the apartment building across the street 

a random checkboard 

 

tomorrow, she says

almost asleep now,  a soft whisper

 

when I can smell the coffee 

from the shop two blocks away 

 

I will wake you up 

 

                                                                                          when its violet