of obsidian, twilight, and june

tomorrow, i will gain the hour
gathered from shrinking moments,
tucked mindfully with notions
i've preened into souvenirs.

when midday unarms itself of
mornings hoarse edge,
there will be no pleading burden
to wage war against.

every delicate sigh of suffering
will be passed over with the
candor of a kept tongue so
my words may fall fertile.

held against this hour,
the fervor eros confesses
will deliver glass from stone,
humbling the length of a day.