this is progress;
despite the bruises
i´m not running away
rather than running to

you can trip me anytime;
by falling i learn

great powers are present
as i look trough my nicotin stained eyelids;
the storm of the century is here

others open their eyes
swans are leaving;
yet i stay

i´ll measure the ice every night
until it´s strong enough;
carry me to the spring

friday nights used to be
about getting wasted

and now thinking about it

about how many drinks i tasted

it worked out fine
for that time

those who say
that i´m tough,
haven´t been
in my embrace;
the feeling of having not to be afraid of falling

it´s cold out here today
like scandinavia cold
like celcius cold
fahrenheits are for ******* anyway

still just trying to remember the day
when vine tasted like sun
and wool socks were just a mere memory
of last years polar night

when
an extra evening meeting
after a long day,

black ice on your evening run,

leaking faucet and too cold
heater in december;

i´m still right here,
hole in your wool sock,

ginger in your tea

now we say goodbye,
still trying to stand my ground.

ice melting on rooftops
while looking into your eyes.

your lashes are frozen shut,
holding on like this moment.