Mists of Memory

Your heart is a poem and it thrums with mist
the script of angels unfurls like God’s yarn
whispering to me of your bountiful harvests.
I clutch your trembling pines to me, mountains
are your love, tall and mighty, fire in the sky,
night lights of aurora borealis where we dance,
we are snow, we are ice, we are dripping icicles
frozen candlelight and a kiss of hoary red roses,
your poem is one of travel, wandering, seeking
and your heart is a cavern of light and snakes
so hold me close, and let me lose myself in you.


2 thoughts on “Mists of Memory

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