Sunday, March 10, 2013

Pass the Salt

Brine—anchovies taste of the sea

awake at dawn before the birds
after sleeping fitfully wondering if my beloveds are safe
(she, young and willful, crept in just after six, shoes off, was almost silent)

I am not one to postpone happiness
or hinge satisfaction against the threat of a postponed tomorrow

back to stranger's arms

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