Yesterday was rough, but today is gentler.  
Today the fog tells me it's okay.  
It seeps through the open window,
wraps itself in the curtains
and finally curls itself around me.  
The peppermint air embraces
my ankles,
my knees,
my tailbone,
my shoulder blades.  
It whispers, it tells me you are not far.  
You remain in the breeze, just like me.  
You haven't been scattered to the wind, you've become it.  
In the morning you rise from my raspberry tea,
and you nestle above french toast in a pan,
you coil through the glass of my shower,
you perch on the front window of my car.  
And before I drift to dreams,
you wander through the fan
and sink back into the basement,
you lightly brush the edge of the counter as I close the sliding door.  
But, always, and forever
you linger just above my head
and whisper like the fog.

You're a little pastry box wrapped in blue tissue paper.
You’re the first bite into
every brownie,
every ****,
every pie,
every cute little confection.
You're that thin ribbon of caramel across a layered slice of cake,
You're the sugar still lingering on my recipes,
the little puffs of flour with each turn of a page.  
You're that extra dash of cocoa
and that sprinkle of vanilla and  
the egg stained finger prints on jars of paprika
and cinnamon
and nutmeg.  
You're the soft crack of a brown egg,
the raw taste of extra batter..  
The sizzling butter in the bottom of a pan
You're every scent of spices and salts and frosting
and the sticky sweetness of glazed honey.  
You're the walnuts and sprinkles on top of last summers birthday cake.  
You're the peppermint sensation on the roof of my mouth
and the sweet flavoring on the tip of my tongue.  
You're the delicate drizzle of chocolate
over a homemade batch of sugar cookies,
the finishing touch.

I'm not the stranger you are so looking for,
I'm not the desired caress of warm air breathing through open windows.  
I'm not the speckled face you long to see washing up on imaginations shore.  
I'm not the sweet sensation of a preferred wanderer here to comfort you.  
But, love I promise you I'm here.

But I'd rather be where you are, in New York City.  
Able to feel the crisp air turning my cheeks pink
and chilling my little knuckles,
to feel you wrap around me as I shudder with every tiny snowflake.  
I'd rather be walking along the streets,
with every stoplight in our favor and every cafe open,
welcoming us in for coffee and cake.  
I'd prefer you in a long black pea coat and you prefer me in green.  
I'd rather it be near Christmas time in the empty part of the city,
where no one can hear you whisper to me.  
I'd rather the bakery scents draw us nearer and nearer,
through the park,
down the alleys,
to the heart of Manhattan
and capture us with pungent tarts and little pastries,
waiting,
wishing.  
I'd rather you kiss away the crumbs from my cheek
and feel your scruffy jaw against my neck.

Pretty girl,
You’re so bright.
Your everlasting eyes
in violet midnights
will burn through the flesh,
through the bone,
through the hearts
of the young and wild ones longing for you.  
They just want to love you,
but only for a single sunset,
only for a day and then retreat like tide to the sea.  
They only want to touch,
they can’t cover you when the rush comes.  
They won’t whisper to you in heated fields,
or give you roses wrapped in newspaper,
or subway kisses.  
They only want pieces of you,
small speckles of what really matters.  
They only see a waist,
dark hair,
freckles and fingertips.  
Pretty girl,
you must always remember
that no one is lovelier than you.  
So, twirl pretty girl,
and dance underneath lightning,
and drink your iced tea
and pick dandelions,
but not with the pretty boys,
boys just want to explore.