I mean, these hands have touched you
we've been torn under winter's white storm together
as memory fades at the bottom of the oven
like some cheap tinfoil of a lost summer.
All the wetness of night splayed there
opening breath into a soft oblivion
you waited there once for me
heaving sighs lifting your head
just enough to glimpse my mouth
about to kiss yours. It's okay to feel
maybe a little something even if it was
months ago your name is smeared
across my lips and even the snow
of this brutal winter can't erase
what never arrived in time to save us.
So don't depart on that bitter boat
that dark sea will swallow you, if you let it.
You see, I have no reason but to reason joy
as my singular duty so jilted and inspired
by these darker days than even you could imagine
me walking right through that door
into your room. Or not at all.