I wish there was a way to send you this morning, today,
I’d pack it up right, so as not to miss a thing.
I’d stuff in the sun beams that tore through the clouds,
Like a myriad of searchlights announcing the sun’s arrival,
Tickling the sky, like your fingers on my side.
I’d fold up the sounds of the neighborhood roosters,
Slaves to their own natural circadian rhythm; unable to keep quiet,
Like your image in my head throughout the day.
Yes, if there was a way to send you this morning, today,
I’d include some condensation that dripped from my roof,
Falling to the ground, and scrubbing the cement below,
Just as your presence washes away all wrongs.
I’d blow in the aroma of the neighboring coffee roasting plant,
Filling my nasal passages with hints of childhood memories,
Similar to how your scent floods my heart with longing and passion.
My only complaint about this morning, today, was that it did not have you.
So, I’m doing what I know — writing this all down —
In order to send you this morning, today,
And to make my morning complete.