i love you

in the afternoons

when the day is bright

and blazing and a little


flowing with the

torrents and the


of passion. i love

you then. but in the

mornings, those mourning

soliloquies of dark

circles and chapped lips

and the slow quiet rising


creeping up

on the stagnant ultramarine,

i do not love you then.


(i need some time to

myself, after all.)