rest your heart on the edge of the thread,
tangle it in thin, withering cloth,
and send it traversing through the sundry of takers
with a serpent underneath their tongues.

He wasn't the most handsome man in the world
Or the richest
But when I'd put Nana' s lipstick on
And kiss the top of his bald head before he went to work
He would come home after a long day
Still wearing those kisses

the cold breeze crawls against his skin
powerful enough to give him goosebumps
but not the kind he's been searching

he treks against the snow, hurriedly
as if time is passing by too fast
and he's afraid he might fall behind

his constant worries trail him
like an unwanted game of hide and go seek
except he is always being found

he longs for the sun, an image
destroyed by the constant winters
that ceaselessly plague his mind

but he doesn't need to hunt for
what he already has in
the palm of his hand

all he must do is wait
for the snow to melt
and spring to come again

where i will welcome him
with open arms, like the ones
he so desperately yearned for