by on October 17, 2023 :: 0 comments

daylight bleeds through my morningside window
as sunrise aches across the eastern sky, and i blink awake,
and yet my joyful awakening sullied by the snores
of a little-known man laying naked next to me.

we shower together, drink coffee half dressed in
a garden alcove built for such occasions, we
collapse back into bed and i finally ask,
what is name again?

dogs bark in the distance, dark clouds gather
over nearby mountains. rain threatens. children
laugh in the playground of a church on the corner.
i have my own church where i try to worship
seven days a week.

editors note:

A proclivity for piety in a self-made church. (They’re all self-made). – mh clay

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