I wrap my head around
the softness I feel for the
curve of your shoulders
covered by a blanket-
my comforter.
I think of your thin fingers
around a mug
of hot chocolate.
You're humming to the tune
of something we both recognize.
Snow falls like angel wing feathers,
drifting light to the earth
like I always imagined it.
Just like I always imagined it.

He smiled weakly,
though it was sincere.
Sighed meekly,
burnt out; completely.
But still;
there is something
that made it
worthwhile to be here.

Love; my friends: is dead.
Though yes, it's corpse still
has clean smooth skin.
Warm to the touch even in death.
Eyes both bright and bold,
all in all perfection unfurled.
But still and Lifeless it lays.

It's not like you always imagined
And it's certainly not better.
When they ask you to talk about it,
if they ever do,
you'll have nothing nice to say.

Maybe that's your fault,
you little killjoy,
Or maybe,
he shouldn't have treated you
like the pile of happy tissues
that pile up beneath his bed.

I am a pawn on my own distraught
chessboard. The juxtaposed avenues of
landscape instill a craving for regression.
No desire to advance thanks to
the looming gift of sacrifice. Lateral steps are cherished,
nourished for too many seasons.
An austere spring is beginning to cascade and crumble
under the weight of the
intransigent summer. The board
begins to emit a cool sizzle
from its pores. Pawns relish
in their lack of duties but are
never graced with the option of lateral steps.
Stalked by the truer ivory pieces of enbalment,
pushed by their slave driving synapses
to chase the horizon for Bimini and longevity.