winter silhouettes
a copse of sailboat masts cut
from the dawning sky
Under
the hours before dawn
I wake to your skin on mine
under the duvet
–
winter’s breath-
maple leaves
under fresh snow
Drunk
pour me another
for I’m not yet numb enough
to make new mistakes
–
darkling beetles-
drunk on the
morning dew
Hidden
living day to day
wondering the earth searching
for my salvation
–
a glint in the sun-
The key hiding
in plain sight
Well
at the old stone well
I peer into the darkness
looking back at me
–
moss covered stone-
I dip my bowl into
the well of souls
Time
reaching for your hand
I would touch you if only
I could turn back time
–
under the oak tree-
lost in our
history
Sparks
warm potbellied stove-
the winter air crackles with
electricity
–
dry night air-
your touch
shocking
Abed
the wan morning light-
wrapped up in your nakedness
unwilling to move
–
your damp hair-
for now I’m
the big spoon
Love
empty wine bottles-
binging our favorite series
into the wee hours
–
dying embers-
our feet under
the afghan
Under
the hours before dawn
I wake to your skin on mine
under the duvet
–
winter’s breath-
maple leaves
under fresh snow
Drunk
pour me another
for I’m not yet numb enough
to make new mistakes
–
darkling beetles-
drunk on the
morning dew
Hidden
living day to day
wondering the earth searching
for my salvation
–
a glint in the sun-
The key hiding
in plain sight
Well
at the old stone well
I peer into the darkness
looking back at me
–
moss covered stone-
I dip my bowl into
the well of souls
Time
reaching for your hand
I would touch you if only
I could turn back time
–
under the oak tree-
lost in our
history
Sparks
warm potbellied stove-
the winter air crackles with
electricity
–
dry night air-
your touch
shocking
Abed
the wan morning light-
wrapped up in your nakedness
unwilling to move
–
your damp hair-
for now I’m
the big spoon
Love
empty wine bottles-
binging our favorite series
into the wee hours
–
dying embers-
our feet under
the afghan
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