A rather melancholic piece again and a very irregular poem.
“On the twelfth day until the last, we held hands.
There was warmth through our gloves and we were
Basking on the first ray of sunlight
Upon those frosty hills.
It was a cool January morning.
But that was fine; we freeze into togetherness.
On that tenth day until the last, we kissed our lips.
I remember our fingers quivering and
Tangled into a mess that we might never
Get out of.
But it was a such a golden afternoon.
We molded like soft clay under the burning sun.
On that seventh day, we moved together.
On the fifth day, we touched our toes with one another.
And how could we forget, that second day when
We almost fell apart but built each other up
On that final day, you breathed your last.
I breathed mine as well.
I was in a hill in the middle of nowhere where
It was not too cold, nor too warm, nor there was
Anything at all.
It was another January morning.
When I cursed to watch the rising sun