Flowering,
up in the morning,
my sweetheart's eyes open,
filled with wonder,
and poised on today.
Yesterday,
the wreckage of yesterday,
doesn't affect my baby now;
"What was was;
What is is,"she says,
as her stocking snakes up
her fine thigh;
she jumps into her skirt
with make up applied -
readied for another day.
She strolls down to the bus stop,
basking in anonymity,
making play with mascara'd eyes,
searching for another yesterday.
