to the love of cold

The many hours of ache
Of the morning being too soon
Top of the roof to the bottom of your shoes
Happy to have friends gather
Ending the harvest month on a good song
Like the edge of a copper moon
Off a portch that can Only be ours
Very funny moments and wine the color Of blood
Every day and Night Better
Only these days last long enough
Final games that’ show no remorse
Can we just lay here awhile
On my chest you recline
Like a cat purring
Doing what every Sunday consists of

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About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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