her hair was ink
cascading her shoulders;
reflecting blue skies
of late winter.
and we sat stationary,
speaking foreign languages
and i realized i don’t even know her name.

you are a light in my life
like no other.
sometimes the morning sky
doesn’t always light up
in the winter months.
but you break through the fog.
you always have.

|m.s.

my chest hurt with the feeling of spring,
and i wept melting ice.
and from beneath the surface
came glowing sunlight
that startled even the darkest parts of me.

i don't make my computer
remember how to spell your name.
because therefore you are permanent.
and i know very well that you are not.

|m.s.

i've always wondered one thing:
"Why is there a space between good morning, and not goodnight?"
this may be solely due to how i write it,
but i'm moved to believe that there is no space
due to the unneeded grey area and empty space about the word.

i'm moved to believe that there is a lack of a space in goodnight
is due to the exhaustion we feel at the end of the day and night.
and we don't take anymore time to have hesitation.
it's "goodnight."
there are no doubts about this.

it may just be me,
but the English language is malicious.
but in the moments you call "Goodnight!" to someone in the dark,
separated by the distance and night chill of the beginning spring---
i'm moved to believe that the lack of a space isn't needed
because there is no grey area
in which to call: "Goodnight!" out to someone.
there is only the hope that we will wake up again to see the sun,
greeting with "Good Morning,"
and a space to sigh with relief.

|m.s.

i felt your eyes
across the room.
you were a perfect storm,
contained
within a dress shirt, and vest.
you were the epitome
of a monday morning
in the middle of winter,
your eyes spoke of
harsh cold, and windchill,
not quite ready
to emerge and go back to people.
but only i know how much you crave interaction.
you just avoid it from me.

|m.s.