I wish that I could remember those sunrises without you.
The sandy grit of shattered shells imprinting on my thighs, leaving puckered empty hollows, begging my body to remember the slow violence of their brokenness.
The blood orange sun flowing forth from indigo seas like a baby’s crowning head.
Some painful birth, or a canvas flowering beneath a brush plucked from a box of paints, and I wonder if there is even a difference.
The coffee is cold by the time you pull yourself out.
Enough time for me to fall soundly asleep to the hush-a-bye curling songs of water and shores.
If you wait long enough, warmth will fade from just about anything.
But as lucky as a greening copper penny gummed to the sidewalk,
Light always seems to find tomorrow.