[describing the happiness of that morning]

that morning i sauntered 
into the sun as it spilled on to the
street. i skipped past the transparent blotches
on the cobblestones like puddles on the
table from the water jug over breakfast.
i looked up. the sky was a beauty that morning.
a newborn baby. flickering waves on the water.
airplane clouds ahead. i was ready to chase the day
through the fields and up the hills for miles. just
run recklessly with dripping cuts on my knees.
rips in my shirt. knots in my hair. not a care in the world.
it was the type of happiness where
if i picked up a harmonica for the first
time and blew so hard, cheeks puffed and rosy, a melody
would play forth. and just like that it would sound like Bob Dylan
and the Beatles on ‘love me do’. i could’ve made
a melody out of flatness that morning. i could’ve basked in messy
dreadful music, and laughed. i was batshit crazy. i was off my head.
i was so in love with you that morning
on my way to our first date. you damn near
blew me away, with your rising smile and moon eyes
you took me in one swoop

 

sgh

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