Watching the Dusk Crumble

It’s that first hint of air,
when the passing night can no longer keep you from breathing
My 8 fingers and 2 thumbs defrosting;
stepping out of dreamless sleep
to walk with yesterday behind me
Diving into your abyss

Wearing little, wearing thin (upon this thickening recline)
Just boxers and socks, and futile resistance
Naughty triumphs of all depths and combinations
(sizes and shapes, colors and cries)
For the knock-kneed me to the bowlegged she

And my baby’s not blue,
she’s pleasantly exhausted
She says, “I can’t even move...
Please don’t go home.” she pleads
But the world’s been my oyster since finding my pearl
And even if having all other love and lovers
at my courteous command,
today would not be all
that I’ve come to expectedly depend upon
Not without her would I ever...

It’s become (to the best of) our understanding
that good days are bound to find bad ones,
and (most importantly) that this realization is okay
For we always have tomorrow,
as long as we come through the night
And (with her) I’ve never been afraid of the dark

Poetry from Nevermore Forevermore by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

No comments:

Post a Comment