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Feb 2020
You pelted me with sleet
when snow was promised,
leaving marbles scattered
for slipping. A steady hand
held me, so I never fell.

I ground my dunnage and
crockery to tiny bits, sent
them down the frozen creek
to my new home, from one
barren maw to the next.

You throw heat that echoes
into halls green and bright,
like limes taken whole. Or
red light drenches our
blurred smiles, waxy skin.

I wrap my hand as a snake
around your neck, cutting
through damp dead grass,
hungry till the lush certain
spring dawns on us anew.
Edward Alan
Written by
Edward Alan  New York, NY
(New York, NY)   
157
   Bogdan Dragos
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