Scenes From A Season

WINTER CONVERSATION – Joyce Wakefield

I listen to you explain the difference

between a right brain thought and a left.

I am distracted by the smell

of cold on your face.

I lick it away like a child

with an ice cream cone

sticky fingers and sweet tongue.

Aware that I have been here before
I pause in your words.I have slept in this flesh,
dreamed these winter bones.

Waking in the darkness between us
I hear frost sweeping the porch,
edging toward the morning.
I reach for your hand.

What, you whisper, voice hoarse with dream.
My lips, swollen with you, cold,
are silent.

Winter, snow

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