Your eyes, over breakfast, are where I find my morning prayer to an unknown God. Thanking, loving, and worshiping the divinity reigning down on my head as small toes wriggle within my body.
My mind is overwhelmed with wound up time, ticking, endlessly without ceasing into the prism of your soft, searching soul. Hands inside, hand outside — we find our solace in you. A creator of the created, still both in womb.
Stopping time is your specialty over breakfast, I see you — seeing me. answering my prayer.