Me and Rose, the Sixteenth of July, 2022.

The news today reports on the anomalies of couples
capturing the exact sensation of daybreak
using only their mouths;  
 
 the weather report; that the nearest alternative
to rain down window  
is un-ironed T-shirt, creased to hell -  
 
Still. I remain bed-bound,
 
dreaming of open-roofed bars for dutch-courage;
 
since It’s too early for cold beer.  
 
Maybe i’ll find Rose on the way there -  
makeup blushing,
deep within morning glow

and Invite her for a walk wherever flowers explode;
 
to talk until tiring of tongues. Then -  
steal lips, afterwards picking labellum
 
from penstemon, brushing behind petals of ear
 
whispering;
 
I like how guttered sunshine falls on you
 
she, replying;  
 
I like how guttered sunshine falls on you too.