all night spent scrubbing the cinnamon roll shack
alone
out at breakfast
biscuits and gravy
the sun still fresh in the sky
the moon still full and unsunk
on the other side of the horizon
the golden growing cloud scatter
slow rolling and rosy
and blue
orange juice
from two booths over
i hear voices
a woman's
explaining to men how easy is it to be romantic
the doubtful reply
thrown over the table
pancakes and eggs
in an early morning
conversational/restaurant tone
and thanking the waitress
and coffee
i wont be sleeping
until tonight
when I can be with you again