Timing is Everything/Sweet Spot

Teacups and saucers, neatly arranged, checkerboarded and obtuse
in their random displays of chaotic order.
Bitter cold, frosting life's color, sinking warmth, hues and tints,
cueing and tweaking blues, browns and yellows
in preparation of the new midnight sun.

Early morning glory, glaring in its brilliant subtlety, pounding
through windows closed and sealed from the outside.
Eyelids fluttered in closing distances, counting tiles and minutes
like toothpicks scattered on a parquet floor.

Elbows skewed to reveal weakness,
predisposed to fear and power as its own deterrent.
Cracks in the sidewalk, warm hands and dying wind
through the sodium light, the ordinary world,
envelopes and cascades over me like a blanket
of mercury.

Her red lips burn through me and count my blessings,
toothpicks and minutes snap into oblivion and the feeble fading
as we return to a cocoon and to our extraordinary, silent
contented ease.