An Aubade of Sorts

 

My dawn doesn’t race across the sky

in a chariot, or even on a Vespa;

it  merely filters in through milky sheers.

 

You depart with sleepy eyes and

a half-hug, carrying your shoes,

but no tragedy ensues:

 

I enjoyed your company;

I’ll probably see you again.

It’s all good.

 

But right now, there’s fresh coffee,

a cheese omelette, my journal,

on a day with no one’s agenda.

 

Copyright 2013

T. Allen Culpepper

 

2 thoughts on “An Aubade of Sorts

  1. Allen, you are hot, hot, hot! Don’t you love it when poetry comes like this–just pours out of you? This often happens to me right after the semester, because my linear brain is quiet for a while and the non-linear shows up. This poem is beautiful, so simple and clear.

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