I’m outside scraping away at the windshield
thinking how the lips of a man would be
a soothing end
to winter.
It’s so easy to crave spring when
everything is frosted over in crystal.
They shimmer, as the light,
an idea of warmth dances.
Each inhale a dull ache.
The exhale a churning fog.
The road bends along as I move like a hand along a hip.
I’m driving away and never towards.
Thinking about him.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 11:21 AM UTC
I’m outside scraping away at the windshield
thinking how the lips of a man would be
a soothing end
to winter.
It’s so easy to crave spring when
everything is frosted over in crystal.
They shimmer, as the light,
an idea of warmth dances.
Each inhale a dull ache.
The exhale a churning fog.
The road bends along as I move like a hand along a hip.
I’m driving away and never towards.
Thinking about him.