A Tequila Sunrise
at the Roadhouse.
A warm cup of coffee
with cinnamon sprinkled in.

I begin my dissertation on Ted Berrigans Sonnet 2.
A piece of my soul.
Although I am not 18 and my hands hardly shake anymore,
And I absolutely do not in fact know better.

The wind is angry tonight.
Conquering the dark with its horrible howls.
But it will not prevail against these walls,
That stand around this little Eden.

A bed, a candle, some stillness and calm;
I need nothing more than these things.
This is love—to be plain.
This is all love has ever been—to be plain.

Graceful.
Is what I strive for.
Graceful.
Is the feeling of holding Venus in my arms.