mornings can be magic.

sunrise paints the sky

with a breath of poetry,

all cantaloupe and mint

and the same misty morning blue

that lives in your eyes

we speak in silent languages,

in wisps and wants,

in feathery clouds that flutter

gently against your skin,

in silent pictures etched

across the landscape of time

we are the dream weavers,

the designers of daybreak

wind-kissed summer souls

on the horizon of your mind

we carry warmth in our bones

(we will thaw your winter heart)

– ashley jane

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i do not care to reminisce with your days of deceit.
mornings can be magic.