Hour 7: The Season of My Undoing

He envelopes my thoughts with echoes of his singing, 

and breaths each breath with measured intensity 

Casting doubts on my veracity 

I shiver under his certainty 

My skin melts under his touch snowy,

He sings slowly and I hear my siren 

My guardian warning, 

I will drown, 

But I can hear only what he sings, 

Fables of his desire distract from his reality

Our breathing entwined, turn dusty whispers to ash

Fingers tread lightly, searching for wants

That converge from abstract to touchable 

I hear the dawn of a winter unthinkable

And let his singing drown my plea

Allow his fingers an open sea, 

Of wishful thinking where we reach beyond inquest 

And into surrender,

His thoughts surround mine, 

His mind, devours my musings 

His smile displays a victory,

It grows colder outside and my fire dwindles, 

His music fades, and when I open my eyes, 

My heart begins to thaw, and his remains frozen. 

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