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By darwin Date: 2006 Apr 13 Comment on this Work [[2006.04.13.14.15.22235]] |
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I feel the air as it comes in. Cold and brutal. The shift in the clouds as they swirl above me. The warmth that has beaten itself into the asphalt for the last days, gives off its last vestiges. In my mind I ask for you to come to me. Without a voice, just still and small in my thoughts. I will your presence across the miles and wish for your hands to press themselves into my skin. Mother nature doesn't realize her cruelty on these days. When it seems to drive bodies closer to each other. Winds that find passage between clothing and skin to chill. Our bodies instinctively huddle closer to itself, to find those spare spots that seem untouched by her fingers. And still in my thoughts, I think of you. It's these last days of winter, as it seems to hang onto the spring. Wanting to clean its palette against the rain. The cleansing it needs from the dark days of January, when summer was just a daydream during the snow. Not a reality to flood our bodies in. But it's these days, with the cold wind that is blowing, that it's easy to forget. To forget that I want you, even though you are miles away. But you're always there. When the first leaf falls in October. When that snowflake reaches the ground in December. I wake up in the mornings to reach over to you, drawing you closer to me for warmth, my human blanket. And the mornings don't seem so cold then. The rest of the world feels far away. But then in the spring, now, as our bodies are warm, the breezes sweetly scents our bed, I look to you. And to your gentle face as it sleeps. Quiet against the walls mottled with sunlight. Your breathing is even, and your dreams serene and silent. And whether your hands are touching me or not, you are still touching me. In that still quiet place that only you can reach. And I think of that now, as the cold wind turns. |