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.