I am grateful for my spirals.
Not when I'm plunging,
Whirling, sliding down, mind you.
I'm grateful for having resurfaced.
And that new breath,
That breaking through the heavy fabric
Of me alone,
Makes me appreciate even the tiniest,
Silliest, and simplest of Everything:
The smoothness of the skin on my eyelids.
The coolness of the bottle of beer
On the spirals of my fingers,
The dust particles that reveal themselves
Dancing in the dawn’s hazy light.
The birds singing for their breakfast
Outside our window.
The aroma of fresh coffee
That spirals up into my nostrils.
The magic that spirals
From my lover’s hand into mine,
And from mine intro hers.
The blue my spouse’s eyes
That often are the color
Of spiraling laughter.
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