In the darkest mornings
of early winter, when the
sun cannot separate from
the moon, and when I am
wrapped inside your arms
willing the day to continue
on with us blissfully in an
embrace, as though we do
not have responsibilities or
matters at hand not just of
the heart – those mornings
I am thankful for, those are
our little slices of imperfect
perfections, bound tightly as
the love of the sun and moon.