death of a sort

so little is reliant on
a brewing pot of morning
or wafting wisps of grain

whose warmth presses lips,
pulses patter 'neath veins
and butter dribbles freely

as a grapefruit réveille
parades playfully above
an eye-rubbing horizon

tousling tree-top buds,
changing hues in the wind
while dreams of night evaporate


Poetry by arquious
Read 498 times
Written on 2015-12-17 at 14:29

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I see it as the lovely beginning of a new day. The death of another night?