It wasn't fair. EJ had found him, brought him home, set up a comfy, warm bed of hay in the basement; she'd even named him. But from our first encounter on that cold January night, Mister Peepers only ... [+]
Send me the sunrise.
You told me it misses me.
The pink, orange, red,
Breaking the horizon
Like the waves crash on the beach we,
No, you,
Walk.
Send me the ocean spray.
You told me it smells the same.
Crisp, salty, cold.
No dewy film coats my jacket,
No seaweed crunches beneath my feet.
I have exhaust,
Here.
Send me one of those round stones.
You told me they still skip.
So effortlessly, skillfully
Each one taking off and landing,
Like the plane I flew away on.
Send me the sunrise.
You told me it misses me.
Send me the sunrise,
And I,
Will send you my sunset.