Golden Hour

Navaris Darson

It is divine clockwork 

that my internal alarm

wakes me at seven each day,

an hour before yours will sound

While you sleep, my eyes 

rest on the alluring curves

of your neck and your back 

as you lie on your side

I want to capture 

every detail of your body, 

but I am an insufficient camera

There’s too much to take in—

too many hairs to number 

too many lines to trace 

too many stars to hold

But I am undaunted

I study your freckles

like an astronomer

Searching for patterns

and charting constellations 

that guide my eyes to the horizon

Gazing at the sun-lined edge

of your naked shoulder

Wishing I could freeze time

It is only in this moment

you do not hold anything back

You only invite and pull me in closer 

and this—this is the golden hour

November 11, 2019