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Halting in the frenetic thalamus of a Monday
I recoil into my finery and fluff my mittens
just to be sure.

Outside
the wind is a yowling glamour
of crystalline shuriken.
searing into naked pink
at a typhoons pace
but with all the stalwart
nostalgia-
of a White
Christmas
you Slept
through.

I open the Door
and the air is Spring
on Laughing Gas
Like a Windmill in Don Quixote's
Fan Fiction

and all’s Well that Ends.
 Nov 2020 Austin Morrison
Angel
These days suite you.

Not because the snow contrasts your
dark hair, making you stand out more than you already do.
Or because your eyes remind me of
melting ice.
Nor the fact that your smile
compliments the weather so well.

But because on these winter days
you melt the coldest of hearts.
Because you made me find a feeling.
The feeling is shame..or guilt for I have shared too much.
I’ve now given you a piece of me;
My mind

I’ve given you the purest form of myself
& my captured thoughts. It’s beautiful.
But I’m not fond of the fact that
I remember your touch more than
I do your words.
Nor the fact that I had to remind myself
to re-direct my gaze

I thought the feeling you gave me
were butterflies, but it wasn’t quite that.
It’s a similar feeling, this is like a fire I can’t touch.
This is a new feeling & I'm reminded
once again that the universe
has a hold on me, unlike I do myself.

I would’ve found that statement
frustrating & pathetic a year ago
but I’ve learned to trust myself
&
what is
&
what will be.
Some honesty for thought.
 Nov 2020 Austin Morrison
Mose
Christmas music echoes off the walls.
Apple cinnamon candles fills the halls.

A mistletoe for every absent kiss.
To remember those who we miss.  

A memoir to commemorate the old days.
The way to honor our ancestral ways.

Traditions pay homage to those who have passed.
To let them know our love will out last.
and if i fall
dont catch me
acting like you cared at all
blood on your hands, luminol
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