Worst At Best

As she sleeps into the morning
I lie barely awake from her
Solemnly perceiving images
Of abstracts and originals
A ray of morning light
Rests at the foot of the bed
Creeping torward her small birthmark
She is starting to snore
Her snore rolls as thunder
Not quite angelic quality
Sunrays reflect off her cow-licks
As she lies in the fetal position
I notice a small hole in her cotton panties
But it matches the T-shirt she borrowed
I watch her shoulders move in and out
As she startles me with every breath
Grunting, squirming in a child-like manner
Sometimes her lips curl up
Like she's doing an Elvis impression
Will the noise desist or will we?
I think I love her...