Dawn

She brushed the dawn
from her morning lips
and stared at that
same beckoning door.
Thoughts began to trickle
between the forgotten
synapses.
Memories of dancing
and laughing, and the
vitality of ushering in
a midnight rendezvous
cusped on the arm
between hilarity and longing.
How far had she gone?
How much time had
passed between bonded
chuckles, belly roars
and two-steps?
Somewhere in the vast
calendars, a beach fire
sang her name,
like a siren-song lulling
her into its melody
of earth and life.
No time for snapshots
and status updates,
no time for ambiguous
brag-laced posts when
there is much left to be
immersed in.
She wanted to be present,
fully entrenched in
all of the painted colors
and listen to the
siren-song that sounded
behind the beckoning door.