Contraction

Like the dead air of winter
my crisp thoughts contract in the cold and pierce
my harboring skin
striking holes in
conscience
(In the time of condensing
pains of dullness encroaching your ear drum
I stop) at the red
stop sign behind
my back,
And as my words fill the length
of red white and blue striped loose-leaf paper
I feel my inside fires
rounded and cut
yet blunt
like the stone I hold between
my chest and yours, closest in the moonlight
shining brightest with
the reflection
we breathe
in
and out
allowing our
hearts to submerge in
endless slowness disappearing in the
West like the cold sun setting.

Contraction

JakeSoiffer

Joined April 2010

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