It was dark and snowing when we met,
flakes gone gold in the street lamps,
laying themselves to rest in your ebony hair.
The whole earth pausing in anticipation
for icy winter to give way to spring.
So now,
in the magic of packed earth,
in the things that dare come out of it;
you.
Surrounded by Irises
that are hauntingly dark.
Your hips,
draped chaotically in a white sheet
looking like a greek god.
Impossibly regal.
The trees sing your name when I pass;
even when you are not here,
you never leave me.
I am always thinking about you.
Many things are lost on me,
but not this;
the worn leather of your broken watch,
your piano hands,
the ink smudges on your skin.
How we forgive winter for destroying what's beautiful,
because we see a little bit of it in ourselves.