Losing Myself.
Esco 3000
i awaken to her smile,
and i lose all sense
of where i am. for
that small photographic
moment in time i'm
lost, and i love it.
old dreams of being
lost still come to me,
and yet on those rare
mornings that i awake
to my dreariest dream
my frowns find that,
something-to-lift-the
-spirits like i thought
only wine could provide.
so i sit up, of course,
hoarse and found somewhere
between last night's inebriant
and this morning's luck.
and though i'm slow to recover
she is swift to lift my senses
with the smile i know will see
no braces, a face that raises
my hope, and a nose like a rose,
honoring her mother's own.
and as it happens, things slowly
come into focus. i see the door by
the dresser is ajar, meaning the
woman i shared this bed with is
gone. my eyes again find my
daughter and i'm sewn into
her epic of this morning's muffins,
missing.
like her mother,
missing.
like her aunts,
missing.
like her father....missing.
her mother, her aunts,
her muffins, and all
together missing a bit
of myself, lost. and
when i found that,
well...what could i do,
but resign myself
to tonight's thunder
slumber's downpour
and the morning's
thirst for finding
a familiar rose,
and losing myself.