counterfeit

i do not matter

your skirt

your slave

the ancient part of me was young

basecamp

this igloo was once a paradise

isolation kept in the warmth

until the glacier shattered
and filaments of ice infected everything

now this hearth is cold as a ghost

now only the echo of movement remains

maybe

i am the grinning keeper of frozen graves

maybe

if we lay together against the frost

we could survive by the heat of our hearts alone

surprised to find

wisdom under a pillow,

like a discarded tooth;

unwavering love

and fragile truth.

...

blanket of sunsets, moonlit owls, and strawberry waffles.

proof that flowers can bloom in a barren world.