the thin lines
striping my way home,
leading me towards
rest
and my heart.
You feel it differently than I do,
the cold,
It bites at you directly
while it just tickles my cheeks
and fingers.
Your layers get cut through
while mine buffer, protect, encase.
It's cold in here without you though
and we're better off end to end,
not stealing breaths,
not heavily trapped.
It was months ago now
that the wind made the streets confetti lined
and soon
the buds
and their unfurling
will bring us spring
and the cold
will retreat,
hang silently in the air, with patience and tiny reachings
and the streets
won't be brined
to stripe my way home towards rest
and my heart.
