about the clock-worn minutes
skipping before a sun comes
is that it contains
every little thing
that every other
hour contains:
so by that
I mean
you,
you and
your palms,
the drifting
of your eyes,
and other gorgeous
things found all over,
and if I ever meet another
side of you that is not entirely
night-worthy, I'm sure I will have
many long summer nights
with her anyway, just
know I'll take either
one, so long as you
can softly sleep
at my side.
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