A poem dedicated to her, I've known her for a few months now.

Dawn — quiet vigil. The smell of stale air
And coffee grounds; the sandman's nightly rounds
Golden, sparsely dusted through your hair,
With sun so solemnly casting away
(Shining on your soundless sleep) night's blue haze.
Watching, breath abated, sickly sweet soaked
With remembrance, the saccharine ichor,
With reverence, the heart's penance — and languor,
The sanguine swoon which softly lingers
About your bedding, pale limbs pouring over.