Steam rises from the blocks of industry beyond the immediate trees; a thin white veil cloaking the city like a bedsheet. And you waking, displacing your head about apathetically trying to light a smoke with sunlight -
this linear love on a tangent, golden, some ornament.
Everything up then falling each morning, with light tethered to the ceiling while you lay still dazed from dreaming, the day breaks unassuming.