cloudy days in the arctic are the most fulfilling.
because the arctic is already hostile; you didn't think it could get any worse.
then the sun comes to shine over the glossy ice,
and just as you anticipate warmth, it glares at you.
Colds days in Michigan, hugging coffee cups, its warmth transcending through the ceramic mug in layers
knitted sweaters with static, a lake view, tall tall windows.
-the pungent smell of deep trees drapes the air.
----
a secret delightful shiver amidst the masses with their dull, blurry eyes and goldfish memory.
a simple rejection, incisive, a soft whisper that moves mountains.
----
i know you as i would know my own hands.
your soft puff and swell, pink flesh, joints all too loose for this mechanical world.
yet, you, my bridge, fuse my tendons together; you tie my shards of bone and nerve into an elaborate weaving of
wind-washed lace.
under this canopy, i've found my home.
i'm close to you- close
like how folk music hangs in the purple evening air
like the thin residue of sticky toffee on the tips of my fingers
like the smell of rose couched on its petals.
