A winter chill
Fogs from your mouth,
Dissipating after a brief moment,
While the sound
Echoes
From soft lips
And closed eyes,
Allowing your sense of touch
To be your mind’s only focus.

A lost art
You’ve come to appreciate,
Flows through you
In the night.
Goosebumps roughen skin,
As a chill runs along your back
From the breeze.

Your button-down curtains
Have opened up,
And the moon's gaze
Is the only entity
To be witness
To such a sight.

The letters
Fingertips write
Across bare skin,
Drives a longing
Towards the edge of sanity's cliff side;
I wonder if you’d trust the fall,
Letting the breeze
Wander further down below.

I wonder if you enjoy the wind at all,
From kissing lips,
Paving a road
To destinations unknown,
Or animalistic eyes
Smiling up,
Locking this moment
Within the iris,
Craving your love.

Desperation
Is a bitter smell
That clouds the mind
With illusion and mystery,
But I wonder how
It could make
That smile of yours
Unfold.

I wonder if you want to boil over,
Or if you want to be still,
Stay blush from
This winter chill,

Staying safe,
Keeping the temptation
From leaving your embrace,
And hold tight
The drum
That beats wishing,
And be atlas-stone cold,
With a spark
Blown out
By the winter chill.