sunday morning rising light
softly sounds all-clear
for the sleeping sane
as the misty morning sighs
one held-breath's pause
over night shadow lips
full of the promise
of spent pleasure itself
and of what little remains
of moonlit trysts in passing
those two-trick ponies
and pre-dawn passed-outs
eddied streams of night-spent numbness
and the rested blessed souls arise
to tip-toe through untainted
i stand
one foot in shadow and one in the light