Good Morning, Darling

First light a soft golden seam

On a hilly horizon

Fuzzy with barren black branches

Yawning open to a pastel flow

Intrepid and bold as blossoming flowers

Rosy pink and lilac and orange lily

There's a poem in it

Tickling my throat

Teasing itself to be spoken

And birthed into the world

From my tongue

Its taste is sweet

Salt

Smoke

Full and rich and nourishing

To be savored.

It tastes of you.

But I'm lost, so lost

In memories of our

Bodies entwined

Amorous stares catching in a mirror

And the joy and desire

And satisfaction

In those eyes

Of yours

And the whispers

And laughter

And groaning pleas

We've shared.

That I cannot bring that poem

Into being.

So I've written you this one instead.

Good morning, Darling.