A bow around the morning

when the day starts staring at me
the night before
with red eyes
half hidden
behind the creepily creaking
closet door

and from my bed
I can smell the evening
because someone
pierced it’s skin
two weeks ago
and stuffed it in the fridge
so that those hours after afternoon
tomorrow
have died slowly
and a stinking brown green liquid
has formed around the remains
is leaking over the edges of the shelf
an out, underneath the door

then it helps
against the prickling of those red eyes
on my eyelids
and the burning in my nose
from the decay
it helps me sleep
if I know
that I’ve at least
put the morning on the table
on my favourite breakfast plate
wrapped in paper
with a little bow