Road. Home.

Crisscrossed lashes.

A Perfect Day begins with wind in the curtains
and the silent lapping shoreline of sun rays across
a floor strewn with delicate garments.

A handful of duvet and the warm musk
of night spent breathing deeply
summons a perfect moment to pass by your lips
and across each crisscrossed lash.

It's a moment so perfect you have to lick your lips
and batter your eyelids in want of more... but -

Perfect moments are hard to keep.

So you brush it off and roll over
because a Perfect Day demands
nothing more from you than
your thinking more about it.

Tea on Sunday.

If i smiled at you, 

Cup. 

Curling steams of coffee toward the ceiling. 

Genie. 

Would you tell the truth?

You know -

That I really was older?

I've never noticed it before. 

Have you?

That mop in the corner.

And that chair. 

I've never sat on it. 

I think 

*sip

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