(silent but heavy-footed)
rifles through his ammunition
and barrages us with gales and lighting.
we are sparrows
braving winter's tempered knuckles,
only to cave to
butterflies and primroses mixing potent
in our warm bellies.
- hearts flitting, beating brittle wings -
in the only spot winter
has not yet stumbled upon.
your profile reminds me
of the eastern coast
and i find myself in libraries
and book stores,
running my fingers along atlas pages
(eye to telescope:
winter now has both eyes closed)
we were accidental
our grey that took over the world
i nestle into sea-cliffs
and wait for summer to change our colour
something relatively recent that makes me happy i am writing again.
otherwise, we are almost four months into being married and it's lovely. today is our three-year anniversary of meeting and beginning this life together. and i am home alone, wandering the halls and trying to write, and he is at work, wishing he was here instead.
i miss the online me that i left behind so long ago. i wish i could find her again, i will try. but i am not expecting much.