If you are reading this, come say hello.
ask about the weather, ask about the day.
A smile, a wave, static-filled ramblings.
A chat over coffee, a smoke for the road.
Just tip your hat, shake my hand, have a seat.
Or don't, and I'll write this, bitter and alone.

Take a look at the stars in the sky.
Count them once, then twice more.
Do you see the infinite possibilities?
Can you count the endless skyways?
The numerous wonders within its depths?
Look down as the sand meets the sea,
Can you see the shifting shapes swirl?
Can you count them? Find a start and end?
Perhaps you can, perhaps you cannot but know,
it pales towards the love I have for you.

I whisper in the whirlwind,
and your smile greets my call.
Hand in hand we swing idly,
humming our tune in the valley.
Your eyes mollasses, your breath honey,
I sway to the song of your stories.
A little oak player bumping its tune.
Do you remember that Spring day?
Do you remember the words you used to say?
I knew what it meant I knew the words too.
I knew what it was that we all had to do.
So I sit now, our trials complete.
Your head in your lap, your love at my feet.
And I know what it means to be the one true
Yes my darling, I have to say, "I love you."

There is a draft by the front room windows.
It makes your old bones hollow and weary.
It drags the dust bunnies out from the shadows.
It makes all the lost memories start to subtly ache.
What a power this little wind holds in its hands.
A sign from god perhaps, perhaps a little flurry.
All I know is I hope it comes and I hope it goes.
Rip through my arm and cut from within.
This little breeze uncovers our sins.
It dances in the moonlight and runs to the sun.
It whispers her name and starts to make fun.
It rips open the drawers and sharpens the knives.
It pulls at the sails with all of its might.
It wishes well and calls me its friend.
It dangles what I covet off a string and then
I know that it has to say the words to this song.
All along it was nothing but a ghost.
It ripped out my brain cells and tore at my chest.
It offers up peace and yet it still stabs.
Over and over and over and over again.
Oh lord does it still stab.
Until finally with an oily rag the window is sealed.
Finally the draft is gone, and finally we can heal.

A satin pillowcase pressed against his brow.
Mutters, whispers, buzzing loud in her ear.
"Please darling," he begs, "Set my mind at ease."
They dance down the hall, blood soaking the rug.
She picks up the knife, stabs into the wall.
"Why won't it ******* stick? Just ******* stick."
He tumbles backwards, both alarmed and aroused.
She looks forward, a gleam punctures her eye.
Step, step, step, she approaches his body.
Slowly, steadily, he crawls from her grip.
And the scene resets, they entwine and dance.

Frost-coated blueberries litter the garden wall.
Birds hover overhead, offering silent guffaws.
Through the looking glass the ***** observes it all.
In a nosedive the bird snags the berry in its claws.
A cheer, a screech, and it begins to rise.
But with a bang and a snap, its whole world dies.

There is a certain warmth in the winter.
Born within the four walls that we call home.
Despite the frost enveloped window-pane,
I find a flush blushed up against my cheeks.
A grin spies itself upon our marble faces,
love encroaches itself within the gloom.

A snow globe surrounded by ink.
A freshly lit candlestick's heavenly glow.
A mother and father slowly swaying
A gaggle of children conspire and cringe.

We have arrived at the solstice.
We have arrived at the season of cheer.
We have arrived at the moments of unity.
We have arrived, and we know no more fear.