Tomorrow is tomorrow and today much as yesterday–
smelling time tastes like frozen pipes
in winter-time. There, across the kitchen table
i see a beach of white sands and emerald waters –let us jump across the kitchen table and rush the ocean. Your hair is golden brown and your legs are tall skyscrapers with many talented tenants — I am the only tenant but pay nothing in hard currency.
You and me are One.
The birds no longer fly into the windows of our Souls — we have opened our windows to allow fresh beauty into our World.
::02-22-2020::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 