My favorite person is a laborer. he is awake before the sun even gets a chance to yawn vicariously through roosters.
He jumps out of bed each morning, silently annoyed, but never actually complains. he just kisses me goodbye and tells me he loves me.
Those words linger on until I can echo them back an hour later when I finally wake.
Throughout the day he abuses his body, punches through walls and falls from ladders. His skin is often cut and bruised but it's all mostly hidden by tattoos.
In late afternoon, his hair is white from drywall dust his face is speckled with paint and his clothes are newly torn.
I know his body aches his bones imitate firecrackers when he moves across the room or leans across the couch to annoy me until I pay attention
to his perfect face always plastered with that smile and those baby blue eyes photographing my freckled features and ever growing belly to get him through the day tomorrow when he wakes up before the sunrise.