04-13-2022, 01:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-13-2022, 02:00 PM by RiverNotch.)
Mornings are an imitation
of a kiss. One day you think it's loving,
the way the sunlight caresses your cheeks
to wake you up, another day
you check your phone and you just missed
a conversation with someone you like,
you read the news and someone that you know
(or think you know) just passed away,
or again bombs fell
on some distant city you've never visited
but grown attached to due to your morning routine
of checking your phone and reading the news---
either way, the sun
moves indifferently to the apex of its arc
in the sky, the clouds roll under it
like ocean waves, and what do you know? It's afternoon
already. Kind or treacherous, the kiss
was just an imitation: lips placed
gently, dryly, on skin
for the benefit of some absent crowd.
of a kiss. One day you think it's loving,
the way the sunlight caresses your cheeks
to wake you up, another day
you check your phone and you just missed
a conversation with someone you like,
you read the news and someone that you know
(or think you know) just passed away,
or again bombs fell
on some distant city you've never visited
but grown attached to due to your morning routine
of checking your phone and reading the news---
either way, the sun
moves indifferently to the apex of its arc
in the sky, the clouds roll under it
like ocean waves, and what do you know? It's afternoon
already. Kind or treacherous, the kiss
was just an imitation: lips placed
gently, dryly, on skin
for the benefit of some absent crowd.