It is hard to be unhappy in sunlit skin
That’s bare on bright red fabric.
Pistons pump and wheels roll by below.
The radio’s
Downstairs, chattering and muffled.
You are cradled by a noisy silence.
You are suckled by aimless
Nostalgia and spoon-fed by the present.
Don't clasp at the future but
Let it hum and dance before you
Because then
The past caresses, and does not sting.
Motes twinkling above your eyes;
Sigh and they swing shyly
From the beams that wet your carpet.
Swallow solitude, baby and
Let it drip down your chin.
You are ok.