Envious wind snakes around our necks;
it breaks its own boundaries to terminate us.
Keeping your hand on my back to take this ache
away, I feel your unshattered warmth vow
to a silent vigil of pure, timeless love.
Yet I begin to believe the world's false nurture,
is this the same reliance that wants to knock
our writings down from a door of learning?
Outside whistling rattles my security,
trying to send countless chills,
like a brother seeking a knife to claim.
It only blackens its shield in hopes
to make us stop thinking.
We have already written of a life
where the sun is fragrantly painted,
lifted up high against sore wounds.
Nothing, not even chance, can plot
over our hushed letters and shared tears.
