In her wake

Bed-head stretches out deliciously
nibbling nanoseconds
her body knows now to rouse
before the need to rise
a breaking of the fast
light and sky to digest
routines to peruse
drinking in the imminence
and just as 'time's up' approaches
she beats down the ultimate count
lest the alarm jangles nerves
sets unbrushed teeth on edge
- daily she slips anchorage this way
setting sail for consciousness
as on a slow-boat to China

One for the Tale Weaver and the prompt: Time’s Up – the choice is poetry or prose – and time enough to pop it in to the Poetry Pantry