Aren’t you cold?
I.
Me?
the wind swept up the solemn yellow leaves, along with my
solemn yellow feet,
and dusted off the crumbs of yester-was
and yester-would
from the hem of my puffer...
Well,
listen.
I hold your heart in my hand,
it holds itself in my palm,
my palm holds itself onto your heart…
Hold your eyes a bit longer and soon, you too,
can hold mine…
So, no.
(Silence. I shivered from the core, to no avail)
II.
Me?
Meanwhile, Amber October and Brown November lie like crumpled,
dryad carcasses beside my feet.
Hm, I said,
I lament!
the skin on my fingers have frittered away from
countless, dead hours
in colorless computers,
but alas, not from the cold.
(trite)
Hmm, I said,
the skin on my fingers
hangs like a nail.
Never have I thought an unwise flick of a wrist could render me an onion.
(Dear Lord)
A curt laugh, cheap,
cheap-cheap, like the swallows.
but yes,
I am
alright.
(Silence. We both shivered from the core, to no avail)
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:13 AM UTC
Aren’t you cold?
I.
Me?
the wind swept up the solemn yellow leaves, along with my
solemn yellow feet,
and dusted off the crumbs of yester-was
and yester-would
from the hem of my puffer...
Well,
listen.
I hold your heart in my hand,
it holds itself in my palm,
my palm holds itself onto your heart…
Hold your eyes a bit longer and soon, you too,
can hold mine…
So, no.
(Silence. I shivered from the core, to no avail)
II.
Me?
Meanwhile, Amber October and Brown November lie like crumpled,
dryad carcasses beside my feet.
Hm, I said,
I lament!
the skin on my fingers have frittered away from
countless, dead hours
in colorless computers,
but alas, not from the cold.
(trite)
Hmm, I said,
the skin on my fingers
hangs like a nail.
Never have I thought an unwise flick of a wrist could render me an onion.
(Dear Lord)
A curt laugh, cheap,
cheap-cheap, like the swallows.
but yes,
I am
alright.
(Silence. We both shivered from the core, to no avail)
