Everything is perfect

found on white light black rain 

Une fleur à offrir

Dressing by Adam O'Riordan

Up early, the sun barely able to throw
a shadow through the loose casement
the rattled like a freight-car far into our sleep.

You turn on the lamp and its glow begin:
Cashmere, Touche Eclat, Kohl, Clinique,
a rose petal tincture dabbed onto your cheeks.

The blinds half-lowered like eyelids
as if the room strained to reconstruct you
between the white walls of its memory.

As you eclipse your winter skin,
the waking world begins to draw you back
and dulls what claims I thought I had.

Dressed you leave. Holding the sun's gaze,
the house articulates you perfectly.