1/14/2014

Snowflake

 

Your breath melts me

and I become the drop

on your tongue,

soaked into your mouth.

 

The separation:

invented

to begin with.

 

The language-less

don’t know anything

has a name.

 

December comes anyway,

February, March,

I am reborn,

formed by cold

into beautiful insignificance.

 

Do you see me as I fall before your eyes?

 

Do you even know I touched you

with my lonesome?

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About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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