Whispers under patchwork quilts,
Linked arms under twirling pink umbrellas,
Fresh coffees set down beside keyboards at dusk,
Blankets wrapped over tense shoulders.
On some days they seem a distant timeline,
On others just beyond the next threshold.
Another season, another ‘morrow,
Seldom a triumph cataloged in a photo album,
Often a fizzle souring into a library of sorrows,
Yet, sanguinity reigns over the scales.
ThePurpleFenix 