Our arms lay adjacent to each other.
She sleeps unaware I notice our placement.
How the covers are off of her legs and shoulders,
but tucked tight around my waist.
How the rain sediment staining the windows
obscures the stars as the earth rotates.
How autumn leaves fall at night
just as gracefully as spotlighted in day.
Far below her soft breath
a dream begins its rapid-eye story.
The sky darkens toward dawn’s promised return.
Wind-whipped mountain tops salt the night.
A little over eight minutes old and homeless,
sunlight emblazons the snow capped peaks.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
Beautiful. “A little over eight minutes old and homeless,” I love that.
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Thank you, Beth. I was probably too pleased with myself for that line. Glad you liked it too.
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