FEB 14 NEVER COMES

It is February fourteenth and i am giving myself to you.

glued- together china, sitting forgotten in pixie dust.

It is February fourteenth and this means nothing at all.

i showered you in apprehension - veiled promise yesterday and will give you dewy eyed longing tomorrow.

It is a tiptoe across snow blanket that i am used to,

a dance in February's lilac sheeted daydreams.

all satin touch and icy smiles.

i will slip in the madness and fall in a cloud every time

 

                                        a fading pink afternoon: I secretly wait for the tide shift 

to step barefooted into march, meeting flower petals instead of ice

your hands a lucid memory, under a crescent moon.

I'll awaken springtime.