This oreo-coated heathen ripped the insole from my shoe and replaced it with a dying katydid. I think we both jumped a foot when, from the blackness inside my boot, the green-winged victim twitched to life and shuddered its last mighty buzz. What a thoughtful gift…it isn’t even my birthday.
First melon-tinged light sneaks past
blinds slats and finds you
squinting one reluctant eye open.
Your gold-flecked iris unfurls
like a clenched bud drinking in dawn,
and I breakfast beneath
the vastness of your lashes.
Tiring of daybreak, the sun threatens
to explode our bed; I draw heavy curtains
closed so I can understand
a big bang as it balloons
from the gravity of your pupil—
my universe perpetually expanding.