The celestial salve of satin mist
veiling this Saturday morning
is folded back by a saturnine breeze,
revealing dew drop kisses
on dandelion freckles.
There’s enough bridal pageantry
in every dawn
to make any man yearn.
But I don’t yearn.
Do you?
Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 7:54 AM UTC