A Trifle: Suspended
Upon waking all my senses begin ticking
I feel the sleep fever rolling off his body,
Hear sneezing from our bun and smell the coffee While I grind it, having swung my legs into cool October
And ended in my kitchen, to brew sweet poison--
An everyday apothecary--before I scurry back to
My bound horizon and all the heat of the sun before it rises,
Golden, russet as a glist'ring tree this autumn.
He takes to his pastures as Adonis to his thirds And I am left reclining between decisions
Eyes watery with sleep, mouth filled with slumber
Caught on a scale of glass and spider's silk:
Choices weighed, measured, and once imbalanced
Both will break.