a wholesome sun broods in the wake of day

a wholesome sun broods in the wake of day
and the hum of too many jewels is the mad honey
on your lips… where parakeets shriek with delight
as common as an always.
i see the eclipse of my sorrow as stark a lightning dark.
i keep spelling my name with a  “ Q “
because why not?
there are no humble kisses
but only one life...
to believe in
til you mean
it.