Scarf thieves beware. Cold necks belong to snakes and lizards. Snakes make snug scarves. I always wanted a really long scarf I had one and it's gone now.
My eyes never close and I never stop tasting or shedding my skin I have many many scales, none of them in equal temperament, all of them intricately camouflaged speckled and striped coiled and waiting to strike at anything that comes within reach.
Even in the harrowing hours of the night, the witching hour, you may say I stand in an open field in nothing more than a scarf and hat awaiting the world to come crashing down with fire in her hands. My ******* perk from hiding, a warm and loving embrace from the cool winter air, and the hair on the back of my neck raises with intent on reaching the sky, I stare forward at the midnight black - awake and so full of stars.
8am-light is bursting through My shades as I take my shower. Once I dress myself, I reheat The coffee my wife left me. I step outside to be met by The crisp air of waning summer. Like every day, I notice the Vibrant boa scarf of purple wildflowers That adorn the shoulders of Wheeler and Monitor. The sky is not falling, and It is true what has been said, 'The fear of something happening Is worse than it actually happening.'
The scarf that you took off with a graceful flourish, From your warm throat, and covered my head On one beautiful, wintry afternoon long ago; That memory intensifies and weighs me down, Like photographs that develop in the darkroom But are never shown the broad daylight.
My head now stays uncovered with snow; I wear your scarf on my shoulders. Betokening my will to carry The burden of the emptiness, You left behind with your departure.