a poetic blurr

the moon lit her flesh like a dream sparkling as words passed in calm sways as her voice splashed across my neck in smooth syllibants. That night, those words, I was afraid to ask, rejection being the dagger which had thrusted in death stroke fashion time and time again when my heart drew too near. Yet here, now, the snow falling I think of snow angels, and looking over to her through the virgin white blanket of winter. It’s boreal call weaving above us and through the trees in calm cadence. Love.