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
so that those hours after afternoon
tomorrow
have died in the fridge
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 if I know
that I’ve at least
the night before
put the morning on the table
on my favourite breakfast plate
wrapped in paper
with a little bow