Backwards Sestina of a Morning Person

There in that restless house, you laid

In your bed, burrowed in a comforter. I watched

The hazel behind your eyelids, and I waited for

Morning, excited to see you wake

I should’ve taken it as a sign, but I 

Wanted to believe in the idea, I did not want to think that 

You, in all your glory, were not a morning person, I wanted to be opposites

You, very quietly, loved the kitchen. I tapped my fingertips

There, upon the marbled counter., I was starving, I

Wanted to eat, but I have this problem, though it might just be

Me. I’ve never liked eating, and you never liked having me

In close proximity, because I can’t help but complain, because you don’t understand.

The food becomes awful in my mouth, especially in the 

Morning, but I promise your cooking did smell wonderful

I watched you dance and I drowsed and fell

In hungry patterns of sleep, I watched

The moon skip up into the sky, but then, so soon, it was

Morning, and I was awoken so kindly by you in the kitchen again. I

Wanted to join you so terribly, but

You were making quite a mess and 

There were pans scattered everywhere

I would have stayed awake if it was something you

Wanted, though my nose was running and my eyes lulled 

You needed me there, in the morning.

There was a light coming through your window and

In some kind of icarian way I wanted

The rays to burn our skin

Morning stung hard during those months