With her, the sun rises at midnight,
and only sets when she leaves in the morning.

Clouds curl at the tips,
unmasking freckles of stars,
yet she still peaks her blonde hair
from behind the mountains.

She is the sun on weekends,
coaxing children’s toes to bounce along cement streets,
and elderly women to pass lemonade stand and order
"just a cup for the road"

She is my favorite chair to sit in
with a good book
and a blanket,
missing a patch of leather
that I run my hands across
while i read.