Attempt at freeform poetry número uno

She has become infatuated
with late mornings
and sunlight across faces
and the mysterious idea of not sleeping alone
the ghostly arm about her waist
the moments in which people are most human
(yawns
sighs
stretches
grunts
the five seconds of honest light)
the way hands look
curled around guitars
and other hands

and him--

the prayer that he will see her
the hoping that he will not and
the longing ache with no name.