February 26, 2009

Sunday Morning

by Kathryn Mitchell

City days that sweat in exhaustion
And air-conditioned nights
The sage that burned
And lingered over the
Cigarette smoke
That whispered of love
And the morning found
Empty bottles that
Spoke of carefree nights
And I wanted to lay
Wrapped in you forever
In this autumnal bliss
Because perfection to me
Never sang of flowers or
But the tranquility of feeling at
And the feeling that, for once, I should be
Right where I am


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