MID-SENTENCE
DRIFT
There is
nothing out there.
And, like the open window
There is
nothing else here
But a momentary
mouthful,
Your mouth
mid-sentence
Obstructing the
daylight.
Morning-after
excitement is
Too riveting to
move anyone
But air borne
pillow sylphs
Who live in our
hair, who drift
Like silk wings
into the alley.