Sunday Mornings

The Sunday morning sun Glazing the eye that keeps searching for the foothold Of how beautifying the stitch of your wife is Loosely bellying out to the light Like flesh-colored sugar plums Breaking open on my skin, with a slow drip of honey. Oh how beautiful is the land of the sugar plum fairy. And…

Sunday Mornings

There are churches and then There are cathedrals. Love is the latter. That morning too, the wine glass was rich, silky and red And the bread buttered like brioche We sipped wine from each others glasses And scavenged on each others dough It was a beautiful routine on a Sunday morning To be offered on…