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A Note To My Love

With the whisper of winter
The air whips these eyes fast shut
As I wander outside of the room
Fishing for memories of when we first met
In a pack of nicotine sticks.
And although the weather impedes motion
I manage to forge a smile as the flurries tease
The hole in the back of my sweater,
The one you knitted for me
When your curse came into bloom
And your tongue no longer possessed the means
Of shifting its lead into movement.
Still, your lips spoke the language of roses
When they surrendered their chorus of kisses behind my ears.
These days, silence provides the melody for withering lovers.
I gaze down upon my numb fingertips
As I wander through a heap of tears
Back into the waiting room at the foot of your bed
And long for your breath to mute the silence.

© Copyright, Enzo Surin, 12/20/99.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.