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Månadens poet: Kristina Svensson

Morning

Sun pours in
through honey curtains
Spills on the place where your
forehead shapes into
brown locks,
gathers in a warm window
on the floor

On the street below,
somewhere
people walk by talking

You smell of sheets and sun on skin

It’s Tuesday.
My morning shift looms in the air
as it goes by
My boss will call soon
voice reeking
of walk-in fridge
and dish sanitizer

The sun window

shrinks as the morning
passes