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∴

there are some hours in the day that are smaller than the rest.
they contain secret, hidden minutes
that only tick
for you.

rain pelts in slower pricks against the pane
and you can hear the voice of snow
in her trickly song,
singing,

“Now, I’m clear and flowing,
but soon I’ll take my form.
I am coming
on the back of cold winds
to tuck you
back into you.
Watch for me soon, dear,
I’ll come.”

·

fire and wax

flicker and dance

and hold the hands of time.

stop.

stop.

·

“I’ll hold these lovers, here.”

·

here, in little hours
that no one else can count,
are seconds stored
with one, adored,
in silence and in smile;

for i have nothing to say
that could be sweeter
than the space that speaks between us

so

i stop

so

i stay

in these latent, little hours.

∴

 

 

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