Each Sunset More

Each sunset seems
to tug a bit more
on my heartstrings
with each passing season,
each season of dreams.

There is extra warmth inside
the old, vacant chambers
where I kept watch over my heart,
warded off non-strangers,

renovated with light
and a hearth kept heated
by a devoted lover
and dozing Labraheeler.

My soul needs winter
and cinnamon and chai,
soft blankets of snow
and crackling fire,

and so it feels inside
beginning to believe
in the magic of miracles
and happy endings,

and as I drift in the bliss
that I have to leave to sleep,
I know I’ll wake tearless
save for the heart-overflow leaks.

Each day we wake, a blessing,
to wake again into our dreams.

6 thoughts on “Each Sunset More

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