*for brownin'*
an unmade bed at dawn
is how you can leave my heart at times
morning visits riding stale dust
from a crescent moon
i sink my teeth into a croissant
and find its heat less insistent
than that which stokes the blush on your face
few men greet this time of day like i do
still pulling myself
from the cinema of dreams
that you star within
i leave things as they are
knowing that once evening falls
to look for the scent of orange tulips
that walks before you
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