On Sunday Morning…

Standard

Dawn blossoms
in your embrace as a rosebud
unfurling its calyx
to a voyeuristic sun,

spooned in
complacent togetherness
draped in
mirage of invincibility
she plucks
a wizened moon
from myopic horizons,

a marigold sun
licks away last dredges
of espresso night,
while feasting
on choco-chip moments
of savored passion,

another
anonymous love story
written in sultry sighs of ambiguity
dissolves like mist
erased by sun-kissed fingers.

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