My alarm clock goes off at 4:30 in the morning.

Monday, when I'm shackled to the heat of the bed;
on the right, the cat waiting for the ritual
of food, always timed to routine,
instinct rising through proteins
crying out far before, though,
the hunt for prey is to begin.
Such trust in its appearance and my protection,
even during rages where we demonstrate our unhappiness
with each other, forgiveness also appears.

On the left, my partner sleeping,
unaware of the lurking dangers that befall us all,
though in complete trust that peace will come.
Holding on through waves of thoughtlessness and sorrow,
both of us both trapped and dependant on our heat
to sustain and protect, we awake after every night,
holding on to the last piece,
the last remnant of another night together
when we awake, at last, and part.