Observation on the Nature of Snowflakes
Liquid embers from the distant fireplace challenge
chilled shadows. Chilled is no longer
my skin, now sweating a soft orange as it intersects
with the reclining sunset rays. I am a sunset, sinking
into this darkness of comfort the blanket breathes
onto my body. Onto my basking glow. Glowing
are the neighboring snowflakes soaring
past my screen door, tapping the faint glass, and I feel
as if they are your fingertips frenzying over
the panes. Unpredictable rhythms. Frail tree
branches. A festering in the background
as the skies uncover their imprisoned, melancholic
comfort. Cradled in my memories are
you, a snowstorm of regrets where I should have
clarified my absence. Commitment after commitment
I tried to balance until a blizzard burst
open from my melting energy. Even without
you beside me under this blanket, I grow jealous
of the way these distinct snowflakes spend
lifetimes savoring warmth exuding from my atmosphere.
Yet I can only capture their fleeting constellations
for seconds before witnessing the disappearance of cold
beauty within my own hands. Disappearing
was I in the weather between us, and I never knew how much
cold beauty could be the heat my heart misses.
