friday morn

a calm
swaddles
the city
outside
while
the same
three note
refrain
plays on
repeat

even the
traffic
seems to
recognize
the soft
swollen
hints of
hope in
the golden
light

a row of
fat little
sparrows
stare in
at me
as i stare
unseeing
into the
aether
lips still
tingling
from a
plethora
of dreamkisses
my heart
still sore
from waking
alone

cinnamon and
coffee wash
away the last
clinging
vestiges of
sleep from
my hazel
emptiness

a smile curls
my supple lips
as the urge
to go out
and shatter
the silence
with my own
three note
sappy refrain

a friday morn
spent quietly
washing the
barefeet of
lepers and poets
unable to tell
them apart

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