Morning Again

When the light is solid and brighter,
the morning has found us.

Again we know the morning,
With it’s cache of fresh promises.

Morning mists claim tender wetness,
but easy languor prisons the body in the bed.

Vestiges of a distant night counter with a fading jig,
a night best spent.

It’s morning again.
What a gain.

If dreams were words,
Then we would have held some conversation with the moon,
then she would have known our secrets.

No holding back because the sun
has kissed our pain away.

It’s a new start.
It’s a new day.

It’s morning again.

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