Never a fan of holding hands
I keep my fingers sewn into pockets.
As leaves turn to snow,
my toes find themselves wrapped in wool

Ever the silent observer,
I watch your lips lock with the lip of a coffee mug
I hang a dream catcher from my ear
hoping to catch all of your nightmares,
so that they may stay forever silent.

I keep your heart in my sketchbook
My fingers press into temples,
You let out a breathe you didn't know you were holding.
On my tongue, your name.

You speak in hieroglyphs,
the dead language of pharaohs.
Your love shaped like owls

Damn, how I want to fly.
Let my eyes skim over the pages of novels
As you store jokes in your dimples.

Fuck.

I never want it to snow.