wine half-hangover beautiful

my head feels stuffed with wadded cotton
pleasantly full
and a big improvement
over that yellow, wet spongy thing
that generally sits in my skull, on its ass
thinking wonderful thoughts
as the world roars past

for me,
right now:
we can sit outside
in the sun, in the chill of a day going by

that we woke to, bright; too bright
too fast

now we're sharing the last of this one last glass

oh, this garden
needs its weeds.
And there's nothing
I'd rather do, but be.

Here with you,
we can slow this all down,

and see.