wounds i've walked with
that bear your name at the edges
greet the oncoming cold
like an old relative
eager to turn away from the impending dark.
perhaps
as afternoon fades too quickly
you let my words hang in front of you
like quick bursts of warmth
as down payments to breathe in love.
maybe the coldness
you can sometimes wield
is to hide a heart that you told the world
was pristine steel
but was found to be sugared crystal that i tasted.
winter's arms
would never be the way i remember your embrace
nor the staccato of your own heart beneath cocoa silk
the chill upon these wound means healing
the imprint of your lips stitching forgiveness,
and perhaps, more.
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