These are my favorite kinds of mornings:
Gray dawn
Water on the air
Scent of wet dirt
Low clouds.
The thing about this kind of morning is that I could be anywhere.
If I sit still long enough, just sit in my own memory, you are there with me. You are always driving. My head is leaned back against the rest. We are both laughing, and I look over at you, and you are looking at me. Coy.
As if you know it won’t last, but you keep that secret to yourself.
As if you know it won’t last, but you keep that secret to yourself.
I like this line. We do that sometimes to enjoy what there is before it wears out. And we later realize we did see the signs but hid them from ourselves. What double think we use to stay in love.
You’ve expressed this eloquently in your poem.
Very nice. I liked the ending.