I wish I could say it all smooth,
blue skies and butterflies,
peaches and cream,
sea glass gliding the edge
of the tide and the moon's soft glow
steadying our fragile night.

But the world is too sharp,

darling, and the lullabyes we
whisper before morning dew are
dashed to pieces by noon, the promises
we make suspended somewhere
unreachable. Slashed and stitched but
the scar is elusive. Tenuous.

Till then we conspire.