Blinds separate rays of completion
as the sun inches to retake its position
above the day’s forecast clouds.
Last night, we weaved our existence
into a passage of rites right after a spiked drink.
Our clothes are strung about the floor
as we wake in bed one day after a Sunday.
Our kiss is a sign of life, echoing its expression.
Our heads ache behind our red eyes as we dress,
promising not to let last night wrap around
our heads because falling in love would kill us.
Twitter – @AC0040
(© 2023 AC)
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