There's a window here
where I sit
and outside is a contradiction
For you see,
there is nothing so warm and tender
(save for Eve)
as the way the morning sun
caresses the landscape.
However-
as warm, and bright as she burns
(referring to the morning)
it is January still
and earlier
as I left Maslow's first and second
my nostrils exported huge clouds
reminders of the season
for it would seem that
if my morning is a beautiful woman
January is her rough husband
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