A wintry day has sat upon the throne,

Its reign short and bloodless, and grey

Timed departure ensured by the old and bony guards of leafless trees

Ushered him away, another concretized tyrant welcomed

In their cemetery, a little drawer in the kitchen where we put the pages of the calendar

And bound them with a rubber band and then throw in the fire.

The incineration of forgettable past, of paper thin hours

To layers of ash, slipping through the fingers as you pick them

To show them to your parents and say: hey!, this is my life’s story

Take it and spread over the ocean and enjoy its scratching between your teeth

This is the taste of too much undeserved love

Of the snigger of timely demons, masquerading as the tick-tocking of your veins.

May not all our days be wintry days.

I no longer had the power of truth in my eyesight

Flicking through canopies of fallen trees

Abiding by the color of the magazine, making amends

With the wind, howling soundlessly just outside

The memory of your warmth that attached to me

Strong as Jim Beam on the rocks

And floating

I no longer had the power of movement in my feet

Sucking on promises of shrinking spacetime

That you will inevitably want of me

Soon, so very soon

I can’t tell myself it can’t be done

I still hold the picture of you imprinted on my temporal lobe

And so I am enthralled

And so I leave you

As paralyzed leafs hush your gentle tap-tapping away

Away.