Lennon is mine in the morning. Her sleep-rumpled curls, piled on top of her head, spilling down her neck. Her lazy, quiet smile, and the bright sparkle in her brown eyes after an incredible sleep following the dicking of the century. The baggy cropped T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, the morning sun kissing her copper skin. The drop of coffee that clings to her plush lower lip when she pulls her mug back, and I have to stop myself from swooping in, catching her mouth with mine and stealing that droplet.
