infatuation

i believe in mornings

i believe in rigid finger tips and red noses

in ears hidden under beanies and

the dragon puff of breath

as the chariot of fire pulls past

orion and cassiopoeia

transitions of color from the muted

tenderness of the moon’s whispering light

to the red in the morn

that marks a sailor’s forlorn

but my delight

before the sun melts the stars away

smell as the dawn breaks the day

and the low hum of zip and zap

of electricity filling the city that never sleeps

stretching its back

the face on the mountain yawns

morning breath that fogs

the crevices beneath its giant head

Morning do and morning does