This Morning A Pinnacle Poem by Bryan Bukowski

The ideal public perch for this dawn-lit tryst.
The eternally bent glare, singeing flung shadows,
placed in encroaching perfection over southern banks.
A sun-struck chill against hands held tight,
sitting with backs to the view.

The aching thrill of nightly consumption,
A florid awareness, romantic perception.
The sun now starching manicured lawns,
and heating happy hearts.
To relax and absorb the floating hours,

This morning a pinnacle to hope to remember.