realizations in the quiet of winter

it’s cold
not just the night
the pit her heart dug

and even
the swoon of love she sought
was naught but dreams

and her heart dug deeper

“Making love out of nothing at all” ~ Bonnie Tyler

he has me writing poetry

I want to consume you in white
pulsing embers and sweetness

softly
slowly
quietly

"I'm dancing barefoot, heading for a spin..." ~Patti Smith

shout

she's held
close her lover's list
nigh on sixteen years
and the interludes 'tween
grown longer

three years
since the last
of a few weeks
of attention
mildly given

she's enthralled
suddenly
she wants it all
suddenly

here I go and I don't know why, I flow so ceaselessly, could it be he's taking over me

catching fire momentously
uncomfortably

the flicker ebbs and flows
dies and flares

into embers, she retreats

her truth a slow burn
beneath the coals

lasts once lit

target

approaching Yule
the wild hunt
pre(a)y
Odin

let her bow be mighty

green-deep crush

lichen damp

‘cross moors

hard

wood

slow to burn

embers woke

She

desires

on a gray day she reaches

to recall
she reaches

back into the abyss where
she parsed,
detached to feel
intense

too brief an interlude
never she got to know
never she divulged
never she smithed
words for you

to the hours lost
is the meeting
the parting

yet familiar
is the weight of you
her response
your coming
your going

newly sweet
is the lingering
is the knowing