one Sunday minute
it rained earlier, still wet
her hair a wet dance
breeze through blond
an orange perfect candle
wet, wax minutes dripping
away one Sunday
minute after midnight
our last kiss like a jar
of fireflies, even the clock’s
bells blushed twelve times,
once for every curvature
how i envy her love
~ Tim Brennan is a regular contributer to Elegant Thorn Review. Tim is a teacher of young minds and hails from southeastern Minnesota. His poetry has appeared in Green Blade, The Rose and the Thorn, Shampoo, and he has been a featured poet on Minnesotaartists.com
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