That thing you want so bad, and the rain

What a person would give
to wake whenever—
alarm clock inconsequential,
even for its buzzing
at startled sleeping ears;

next to a blossoming love laying,
touching, snoring, holding, warming;
giving thanks
for each nocturnal breath,
each pull of the down comforter
in a mute cat-hair covered duvet;

awoken to a springtime pitter-patter
which started the night before
after pictures on a screen—
now somewhat cold
listening to talk of global warming
with a whole day ahead,
oh god, Kerri Miller (sure…);

a few hours behind,
cleaned dishes sitting,
dripping as beyond the window,
and much wasn’t said
for want because this person had:

a few new books free
from Pierre Bottineau library
of Northeast (which it is not,
so I am told), flax-seed
and oats and brown sugar
and clear water;

this person sitting
had everything that was needed
and more just to realize it all
just to think,

from the inside out, heart beating,
synapse snapping, mindful
being, just slouched there,
and would give anything for it,
that thing you want so bad.

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