droplets vein and
track down the
slicked and glistened
glass window.

their quiet silence and
my lover’s voice
wake me – it’s saturday.

morning thunder
rumbles out of place,
audibly unfamiliar – belonging
to a summer afternoon
still to come.

chugging low crashes
soundtrack the small
chores of the early day and
rattle the panes once
in a while.

the gray dawning is
sublime and mortality
hangs in the air
between our two bodies – No,

it flashes with a
glance and shakes us,
each to each’s core.