This is the coldest hour
and you are my furnace.
You are standing here
before me—
with a long, accepting smile
across your dusky face.
The deliberate rays of your flames
try to reach to me—
with extended arms
and slow, hazy eyes.
I am looking
and waiting for you
to utter me a word.
A word—
to utter—
a nearby, familiar word—
but you are scrambling
in the darkness—
eternally searching—you do not know,
cannot understand
that it is slumbering here
in the chasm between us—
and that this word
may be the only thing
that leaves us both
here in the cold.
