FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME TOMORROW
...maybe it's just
that time of year? you start
noticing the subtleties
of winter’s sun.
you've long but seen
starts home. that's what has
the scent of cold.
even as a child
you can't remember, ever having
felt so scared. it's january,
you're still so very much in love
with someone you've never had
the chance to.
that's now turned to snow, causes
a blush so very pure and warm, that
it simply caters the blood
towards reminiscing. a blush
starting just below
the ear and then tickling
your clavicle. and it
decides, symbolically of course, to knit
a scarf made out of kisses, from one lobe
to another, the same way i used to.
not hard at all to remember
being so young at that time,
that all we
could possibly do was make mistakes, excelling
with blunders at one another's expense. learning
to simply miss a step
then to keep on dancing unless...
both of us became surprised
at how it came. so natural at falling
from impossible heights,
enticed, and as if landing
i played your phone message twice...
to complement my imperfect evening,
by myself in the early morning, maybe
it was just
to hear your voice,
i used to tilt my head
to hear you breathing, this was that same
kind of thing...i just needed
to sleep next to something other
than my pillow.
it's just that time of season, everything
falls in small deliberate flakes.
the streetlights type cast with reason,
the snow's decent make the sky ornate...and i still
believe that if i make a wish, that wish
has a chance
and might come true...
...please lift this sorrow
...so i could meet her for the first time,
for the very first time tomorrow.