It is morning, the air is moist and crisp, not yet tainted by the scorching mid day desert sun.
A steady supply of sunlight showers your face when you awake.
Natural light hits the small galaxies splattered in your irises.
With dimples and laugh lines perplexing and forever curious.
I love that you put two packets of Sweet’N low in your coffee because your grandmother did too, when you were young.
Might as well drink up the cancer, we’re all walking vessels of flesh with expiration dates.
Middle of the night conversations about unnecessary Catholic guilt and childhoods concave and short lived.
Planting seeds in our dreams. Flowers bloom in the spring. Flowers.
Violet veins on your fluttering eyelids, goodnight.