One day our good mornings shall
become a distant moment of the past.
Birds will still sing a symphony
of life to the cloudless sky and
the sun will ascend anew into
emerald blues. The outside world will continue
without us, thoughts crossing oceans,
intent skimming moon beams
and desire burning on the edge of suns
descent. Such a gulf will silently
implode and explode as a vortex
of everything becomes a meaningless
whisper void now of need….And we will
search for those all knowing eyes as a
storm roars through our veins, and we
will search among the rapid beating
of our hearts…But we’ll not look so far.
Tender lips, tongue tips between
coffee sips and ….dancing hips, we’ll bid
good morning with a loving kiss, in loves
finest tongue. Kissing good morning
beneath a single ascending sun.
Karen Hayward ©2017
Image Karen Hayward ©2017