fog grows heavy
on winter's breath
we loved in the bushels
of new fallen leaves
and our whispers were snippets
of warm summer breezes.
we're no longer dead,
never while we're together
feeding life into
our hearts
once so vacant-
your brother hung himself
off the boat next to your house
and i downed my throat with sleeping pills
and made pretty red patterns
across my arms.
that was before we met,
when December was a wasteland
of death endeavors
some triumphs..
some well,
disaster.
but we gave this month a new name,
a new identity
that trembles with the "i love you's"
and the "remember when's"
our cheeks hollow from
warm slubby kisses