7 depths of winter

i heaved the last breath of your melancholic embrace.  it was the perfect winter that night, and i somehow tasted its darkness exuding like cold shores of the nebulous sky above us.  its damp, mundane presence held a message of slow death to my lungs; harsh enough to crumble its foundations and vicariously slit the very life out of my existence.  my fingers pulsated while the frost of this weary evening seeped right through my gloves, hammering and ebbing through the brittleness of my limbs like iron filings to a magnet.  the vicarious warmth that i summoned from zinfandel a few minutes ago had slowly perished to the helpless words you conveyed through this faint darkness.  those very words that made me leave the comforts of life to find you. yet the only answers i got were the silent calls of flakes hovering through thin air.   

i hopped inside my ride while snowflakes started collecting on the windshield.  the tune playing was remiscent of my very premature trembles when you hugged me during that first cold solstice.  i heard the sound of dripping water on my jacket and uttered your name once again.

no answer… except for the pretentious blizzard drowning the point of me being out here.

my only companion was the mist coming out of my mouth.  it only reminded me of sultry summers where sweat soaked our bodies amidst the slight breeze.  it was my silent excuse to learn the fibonacci sequence, so that i can spend all lazy afternoons with you.  but then, the cold acoustics of clamping snowflakes were too hard to ignore.  the reality of my wishful thinking was reminding me that i was almost in the middle of nowhere.  the park was desolate; only a few amber lights were lit up.  i could just imagine how dreary this place was from an airplane.  my damp hands scrounged for a dryer surface to wipe onto.  you made me stare at the cold silhouette of the street lamp entering my bedroom.  i had to do this every night, and i somehow endured every stone that laid strength to those high walls.


your breath sent a fickle glide through my frazzled arms while i slowly laid down tennessee williams’ treatise.  i glanced over your side and noticed how delicate your hands were, clinging through me like i was going to steal the warmth out of your skin.  it was already 6 in the morning, and the deep blue sky had been superseded by sunrise; the morning runs have been replaced by cozy late morning breakfast; and last-minute errands have been once again determined by our lethargic indifference.  i could see the sullen expression on your face while i slowly tugged the blanket from the floor.  my eyes; unmoved by the logic whether the lamp was still on or not; only knew from that time on that the sunrise would reveal the vivacity of why our lives were meant to be lived this way.  i felt an ineffable kind of optimism exuding underneath the comforter despite this cold wintry morn.  i stared and briefly made my peace with the manhattan sunrise; while the congenial covers gradually preserved our warmth from this lazy wintry saturday morning.


ha, i need practice…


One Comment on “7 depths of winter”

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