clearly there is damage
in the mechanics
of our interlaced hearts.

savor me
roll my words around in your mouth
like marbles
and dream of the taste of my skin
and the bite of winter
on the tip of my nose and lips.

do not break apart my words
like ice
still, staring, fragmented in anger;
do not tear me
from afar, with your words
assumed unheard, but screamed
to the ends of the earth.
do not assume i am unfrozen
fluid and unattached
to the sound of your voice.

remember me
in lace and wonder and December
in beauty and imperfection;
or forget
that i am far, far away
in pain, from missing and being unmissed.
or that i exist, altogether.

clearly there is damage
in the mechanics
of our infinity
wrinkled and unraveled before us.