I surface long enough
to gulp down the sunshine,
or lacking actual rays,
expose myself to daylight…
Sun
January was dreary
February stretched till a hole
split in the pizza dough…
I was the paper doll
you tore across
two imperfect halves,
jagged edge…
Your hand carries the heat
and softness of the sun…
pink if it were bronze
sunset clouds settling…
field brown is dingy
grass is achingly green…
theyre all high any mighty lording their stupid fluffy faces over us all
The sun rises up, gliding across the dance floor sky, as the stars take their place on the side…
the sun is out because the weather is changing and guess what
How does one follow
the sun to survive…
Daily Poets 