Comforter

We
Breathe.
I like the thought of that:

Of blinking back the sun as it dips through where it can
Through dusty window panes. Though the plastic blinds
Don’t hold back light, we find peace in inhales and exhales,

In greed for one another and in seeds sown under cover
Of our youth. We bleed out truths with loving nature
And forget the crushing blinders brought by age.

We throw them out the window. You might say, from where we lie
On the wrinkled duvet, that we may never leave this place.
But, oh, what a lie it would be. Take a photograph of us

And we could stay this static ‘til it fades. But until then,
We can laugh in the face of rage, cage, wage, and every other
Word that rhymes with sage. That’s when

We’ll raise the day like this solace never came. And now,
We breathe another language — in, out and of the sanguine.
We race through the day just to get back here.

I like the thought of that:
Unsheathe
Me.

Stay gold,
Sabrina