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.
