The light of a weekend's morning
Gentler than a weekday's light
Forgives what the week teaches me to hate
It illuminates my skin to glowing
Fills me with a happy sadness
A strange gladness
I am thankful for this body
Sorrowful, for I know my thankfulness will not last
When the morning light fades
and I am thrown back into shadow
The once soft, gentle curves
Are grotesque and misshapen
How could I have forgotten?
I wait for weekend's light
YOU ARE READING
inaurata lingua
Poetrybook two. stars pour from a golden mouth ink drips from a bleeding tongue
