365 Poems – 169 Moss (Rough First Draft)


You bite out my heartbreak,

while measuring the lengths

of each breath I take at night.


You keep me safe,

like moss that protects its rock.


You encourage the reindeer

in my head, with Nordic cunning.


When I’m asleep, like a warm

infant, smelling of soft apricots,

you are still under my skin,

like a ghost who never leaves his river.


When I’m several journeys old,

and before I’m nobody, you

readjust the structure of our romance.


You banish my terrible cold,

and give me a quiet head.


You tell me that I’m beautiful,

and simultaneously terrifying.

That I’m the wolf in your sight.