before the sun,
when the world
is still dark
from the past,
I lay awake,
excited to envision
mornings with her
nestled in the crevice
between my neck
and broken shoulder.
it is here,
in this invasion
where I want
to live, long,
from the hollow
month of March
to the next mile.
from under doors,
in through windows,
the cracks of broken hearts,
love seeps in like water,
altering everything it touches.
like osmosis alien light,
where the only recourse
is to accept or
burn it down
like an old church
infested with termites.