you come to me
in slivers
small parts
melting
water drops
sliding down
stained glass window
lit from within
with glowing
intonation
collecting
in small puddles
of glass memory
this is a slow
warming, winter
hands held
out
open
over
fire like prophesy
we ease into
the unknown
dipping our toe
tentatively like bathers
who, undressing
slip softly
into warm bath water
slipping softly
into each other’s
thoughts
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