Born a Lover

A friend recently reminded me,

“You wouldn’t eat rotten meat”.

I understood her.

An evening can be ruined by a misunderstood meal. And then,

How can I bear to drink from a landscape that does not quench clarity?

How can I sip the strong air, knowing the hangover that will greet me morning-side?

And how long can I stay inside? Fantasizing rain on my cheeks -

I break out into the moonlight. Sleep is beneath me and rain is nowhere.

In the sealed heat of an unusually sunny summer day in San Francisco

A new dialogue burns the usual fog from the bay.

It ushers an unusual sunlight

That heats our sharing

My new friend (born of another love) shows me:

I would not eat rotten meat!

Nor would I waste the purity of sustenance

Where integrity is pillaged in the name of taste

I was born a lover, my purpose is bliss

In a room with an eastern-facing window

We bronze that unusual sunlight

By dinnertime, shadows do not dim

the fact that the sun had warmed us in San Francisco in June

Or the fact that dreamy dialogue got us lost on the way to the ocean

but brought us home again

Only to uncover more of same gold:

I was born a lover, my purpose is bliss

Looking for the ocean in San Francisco with Steph Page