Hope To Find The Sun

Something rare for me: a happy poem.

I laid our marriage bed
on the floor, long-unused
with remeniscent little
moments like dappled light
through leaves.
Beneath the electric
stars I touched them all,
with tender fingers and
soft words, far into
the morning when my
tongue began to mumble
and there were red streets
on my cheeks.

There were parts of me,
sore legs and stiff joints,
that groaned and popped,
but mostly I was happy to know
that I had found relief in those
sugary little beams

(and even happier to know I
had the hope to find the Sun
again).