I love the horizon on a sunday morning.
i’ve waited a week for this softest of sights,
her cloudy lids rising with silver eyeliner.
She partied last night with a newly-made lover earth
but there is one thing she created on sunday:
coffee– and it was only for me.
I love the horizon on a sunday morning,
the day the torch was passed.
You wiped the powdered rainbows from your dawning brow,
“read to me,” you beckoned from a stairless loft.
I nicked your earrings, lipstick, and brush
and set sail for work with your blessing afore.
I love the horizon on a sunday morning,
the ambiance of a cherished life
god is the voice, between bird and barge,
that reads us her diary and hums her equations…
just soft enough for a lashing lullaby,
just loud enough to earn a look
into her mascara’d eye.
