Saturday 30 July 2011

Breath

Your breath like snowflakes

coming from your mouth,

as though it were the only thing

you could dream about after

so many days of white horizons.


In the morning I wake before you, chilled,

to see it still uncurl from your lungs,

my talisman, my lucky charm,

my prayer beads I count one by one,

as they rise into the morning air.

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