I wake to winter’s melancholy
palette, grey on grey it’s
blowing on this febrile breeze
seeping through my bones
limiting movement
turning me to stone:
‘’& what of love?’’…..You say.
I’m the other side
of midnight sifting through
my warrior bones…
‘’& what of love?’’ You say.
I have no answer
to the play of midnight
on bare branch
can only shrug & turn away
waiting for the stars
to hold us close again
waiting for the stars
to blind us.
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