The hue of my second sunrise
is brown
like the coffee I try to drown
the last of night's
half-remembered dreams in,
or the rich soil I plant
the seeds of my
half-baked schemes in.
Like the darkest amber my
gadfly wings could
ve trapped in?
No! Like the softest fur
my trembling soul
could be wrapped in.
If I could only start all my days
in the warm glowing dawn
of his gentle brown gaze.
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