bedded winter/36

by poems & doodles

in the quiet
the early morning,
while my eyes adjust
to the blue-toned,
frost-lined light
seeping past
lifeless curtains,

i trace your golden hair
on the crisp, fresh-fallen
white of the pillow,
splayed in
unfamiliar,
unrepeated
patterns,
branching
sharp and unsheltered
towards the
frigid sun.

here, im careful
to do little more
than admire the
wonderland before me,
moving with an ear
trained
to recognize
the crack of
thin ice.

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