And we were stuck.

This year, so skinny and diluted,
I'm surprised we made it this far,
with the acidic aftertaste and misuse of
love
and
devotion
of time.

But rather than tiptoeing quietly into this,
I'll pour another shot of burning
hope
or
something similar.

Tomorrow is just another sunrise,
(if you could call it that in Northwestern Pennsylvania)
that I will see once again
some other day,
some other year.