Atop an Oak
streetlights draw the chilling draft woven and careening through the crisp leaves, nudging my hair playfully. As I exhale tepid breath into my shivering hands cupped upon blushing lips, my fixed gaze burns through your window and wraps around your heart as restless and silly as it is to be up here, atop an oak in the frigid dead of night; shortly I forget it all while my relentless longing unravels at your feet. And I’m certain yes yours, my love is the right human face. GBE Written December 8th, 2001 © on Dec 07 2001 04:01 PM PST 18 • 0 • 8
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"streetlights draw the chilling draft..."