Warm December by hannah eicholtz
December, in shorts, above warm pavement My bicycle unfolding motions, with arms open A bird. Your head on concrete, the sun Closing your eyes, body curved towards me Wind and air. Your hair licked with blood. I will be forgiven then, for how much I love. How much pain I will cause myself, is more. Before this abnormal day in December, We were rested in feeling, slumbering in melodies. If you wake, and I am not there, but here, How can I say all that I meant to say? Melodies, they do not fall and die, they are in the breeze. But you are as dead As the trees, as dead as my heart. You'll say it's strange, a feeling as fleeting as This day, and how would you know. My hair is made of strands, those strands are Made of fibers, some of which you may Have never touched. Today I feel that I will never be forgiven For the magic I have, and what I choose to do, will be mistaken for love or other feelings. Because I will stay, until it is colder. Until the blood is a slick and icy patch.
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