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.